THE  WHIP  HAND 


SAMUEL     MERWIN 


THE  WHIP   HAND 


L. 


MISS  MARGARET  DAVIES 


THE 

WHIP  HAND 

A  TALE   OF  THE   PINE   COUNTRY 


BY 

SAMUEL    MERWIN 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE    ROAD    TO    FRONTENAC" 
JOINT    AUTHOR    OF   "CALUMET    K" 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1903 


Copyright,  igoz,  190?,  by 

The  Success  Company 

Copyright,  1903,  by 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Published,  October,  1903 


7i( 

••• 


TO 
O.  H.  and  E.  B.  M. 


M532967 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE  :  BEGINNINGS 

PAGE 

Prologue — The  Young  Man  at  the  Stern      .          i 

CHAPTER 

I.   Mr.  G.  Hyde  Bigelow       .         .         .15 
II.   Low  Life 28 

III.  George  and  His  Troubles   .         .         .38 

IV.  The  End  of  the  Beginning         .         .       53 

BOOK  TWO  :  PINE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Decision  to  Fight  .         .         .         .59 

II.   Under  Way 68 

III.  Tightening  the  Blockade    .         .         -77 

IV.  Mr.  Babcock  Breakfasts  Late    .         .       84 

V.  A  Venture  in  Matrimony  .          .  101 

VI.  A  Shut-Down no 

VII.   Halloran  Goes  to  Chicago  .         .120 

VIII.  The  Question 132 

IX.  One  Evening      .         .         .         .  145 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

X.  A  Letter 155 

XI.  High  Life  at  the  Le  Dues  .         .164 

XII.  The  Pine  Comes  In  182 


BOOK  THREE  :  THROUGH  FIRE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Little  Talk  with  Captain  Craig       .     201 
II.  Going  to  Headquarters       .         .        .218 

III.  Mr.  Babcock's  Last  Card   .         .         .229 

IV.  Twelve,  Midnight       .        .         .         .242 
V.  The  Meeting 256 

VI.  West  and  East 266 

VII.  Three  Announcements        .         .         .282 
VIII.  Leveling  Down 295 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Miss  Margaret  Davies       ....    Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Jimmie 34 

"'He's  going  to  have  the  whole  zodiac  buzzing 
around  his  head  before  he  gets  through 

with  Higginson '           .....  84 
".     .     .     standing  with  his  back  to  the  table 

and  the  light  " 118 

"Apples" 136 

The  Yard  "Boss' ' 180 

Jack  Halloran 240 

Martin  L.  Higginson,  Bigelow's  rival          .         .274 


BOOK  T 

BEGINNINGS 


TH£ HIGGINSON  YARDS 


THE   HIGGINSON   LUMBER  YARD   AT  WAUCHUNG 

{See  page  5Q) 


PROLOGUE 
THE   YOUNG   MAN   AT  THE   STERN 

A  THICK,  wet  night  on  the  southwest  coast 
of  Lake  Michigan  a  dozen  years  ago;    a 
wind  that  sweeps  over  the  pitching  lake 
and  on  over  the  dim  white  beach  with  a  rush 
that  whirls  the  sand  up  and  away.     Trees    are 
bending  up  there  on  the  bluff.     The  sand  and  the 
rain  are  in  the  air — or  do  we  feel  the  spray  from 
yonder  line  of  breakers,  a  hundred  yards  away  ? 

And  deep  in  a  mudhole  on  the  lonely  road  that 
skirts  the  bluff — the  four  horses,  fetlock-deep  in 
the  sticky  clay,  straining  forward  like  heroes, 
the  members  of  the  student  crew  in  their  oilskins 
throwing  their  weight  on  the  wheels  of  the  truck — 
is  the  Evanston  surf -boat. 

The  driver  has  pulled  his  sou'wester  hat  down 
on  his  neck  behind  and  swung  the  U.  S.  L.  S.  S. 
lantern  on  his  arm;  he  stands  beside  the  forward 
wheel,  cracks  his  long  whip  and  swears  vigorously. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  boys,"  he  calls  over  his 
shoulder;  and  he  must  shout  it  twice  before  he 
is  heard.  "Whoa,  there!  Stand  back!  Now, 
boys,  get  your  breath  and  try  it  together.  When 

I  call Now.    All  ready!    Let  her  go!" 

3 


4  THE  WHIP  HAND 

The  men  throw  themselves  on  the  spokes,  the 
horses  plunge  forward  tinder  the  lash  of  the  whip. 
A  moment  of  straining — an  uncertain  moment- 
then  the  wheels  turn  slowly  forward,  the  horses' 
feet  draw  out  with  a  sucking  sound,  and  the  boat 
rolls  ahead.  The  driver  unbuttons  his  oilskins  at 
the  waist  and  reaches  beneath  an  under  coat  for 
his  watch.  They  have  been  out  two  hours; 
distance  covered,  two  miles.  Before  him  is 
darkness,  save  where  the  lantern  throws  a  yellow 
circle  on  the  ground ;  behind  him  is  darkness,  save 
for  the  white  boat,  the  little  group  of  panting, 
grunting  men,  and,  a  long  mile  to  the  southward, 
the  gleaming  eye  of  the  Grosse  Pointe  lighthouse, 
now  red,  now  white.  But  somewhere  in  the  dark- 
ness ahead,  somewhere  beyond  the  white  of  the 
breakers,  a  big  steamer  is  pounding  herself  to 
pieces  on  the  bar.  So  he  buttons  his  coat  and 
shifts  the  reins  and  swears  at  the  horses.  He 
seems  to  swear  easily,  this  young  fellow ;  but  he  is 
thinking  of  the  poor  devils  on  the  big  steamer, 
lashed  to  the  mast  perhaps,  if  the  masts  are  still 
standing ;  and  he  is  wondering  how  many  of  them 
will  ever  ship  again. 

A  huge  bonfire  lighted  up  beach  and  breakers. 
Around  it  huddled  a  motley  crowd,  students  in 
rain-coats  or  sweaters,  sober  citizens  and  residents 
of  the  north  shore,  fishermen,  and  all  the  village 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  AT  THE  STERN      5 

loafers.  But  the  students  were  in  the  majority 
and  were  making  most  of  the  noise.  It  was  they 
who  had  built  the  fire,  raiding  fences  and  wood- 
yards  to  send  up  a  blaze  that  should  tell  the  poor 
fellows  out  yonder  of  the  warmth  and  comfort 
awaiting  them  on  shore — if  they  should  ever  get 
in  through  the  surf.  They  were  cheering,  too, 
giving  the  college  yells  and  shouting  out  inspirit- 
ing messages — as  if  any  noise  below  the  sound  of 
a  gun  or  a  steam  fog-horn  could  hope  to  be  heard 
over  the  roar  of  the  lake  !  But  this  was  a  great 
occasion  and  must  be  made  the  most  of. 

Of  course  no  such  body  of  students  could  act  in 
concert  without  a  recognized  leader ;  and  the  young 
man  who  claimed  the  honour  could  be  dis- 
tinguished at  a  glance.  Now  issuing  orders  to  the 
foragers,  now  mounting  the  pile  to  adjust  with  a 
flourish  the  top  barrel  and  to  pour  out  the  last  can 
of  kerosene,  now  heading  the  war-dance  around 
the  crackling  fire  or  leading  the  yells  with  an 
improvised  baton,  always  in  evidence,  as  busy 
and  breathless  as  though  his  labours  had  an  aim — • 
was  a  long-faced,  long-legged  student.  He  wore 
a  cap  that  was  too  small  to  hide  his  curly  chestnut 
hair.  His  face  was  good-natured,  if  flushed  with 
the  responsibilities  of  his  position.  His  rain-coat 
thrown  aside,  he  stood  attired  in  a  white  sweater 
with  a  wide-rolling  collar,  and  a  pair  of  striped 
trousers  that  fitted  close  to  his  nimble  legs. 


6  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"  Hi,  there  !     Here  they  come  !" 

A  small  boy  was  shouting.  He  had  been 
stationed  on  the  bluff;  and  now  he  was  sliding 
down,  using  his  trousers  as  a  toboggan  on  the 
steep  clay.  "  Here  they  come  !" 

The  news  spread.  "Here  they  come!"  was 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Those  who  had 
gone  out  of  the  firelight,  in  order  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  hulk  that  stood  out  dimly  against  the 
horizon,  now  came  running  back  and  joined  their 
voices  to  the  cheer  that  was  rising. 

Yes,  they  had  come.  A  Coston  signal  was 
burning  up  on  the  bluff;  and  half  a  hundred  pair 
of  legs  were  running  up  the  beach  to  lend  a  hun- 
dred hands  in  getting  a  ton  and  more  of  surf -boat 
down  the  ravine  road.  The  tall  young  man  led 
the  way,  thanks  to  the  nimble  legs,  and  called 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  ran : 

"This  way,  boys  !     Everybody  this  way  !" 

The  horses  were  taken  out  in  a  hurry  and  led  off 
to  the  nearest  barn.  Long  ropes  were  rigged  to 
the  back  axle,  "everybody"  laid  hold,  and  then, 
with  the  crew  men  still  hanging  to  the  spokes  and 
the  young  driver  leaning  back  on  the  tongue  to 
guide  the  forward  wheels,  the  surf -boat  went  bump- 
ing and  lurching  down  the  road.  With  a  rush  and  a 
cheer  she  went,  as  if  the  fever  of  the  waiting 
crowd  had  got  into  the  wheels,  as  if  the  desperate 
hands  of  the  half-drowned  men  out  yonder 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  AT  THE  STERN      7 

were  hauling  them  on — impatiently,  madly, 
courageously  hauling  them  on. 

On  down  the  beach,  the  broad  wheels  plowing 
through  the  sand;  on  toward  the  breakers  that 
came  running  to  meet  them:  into  the  water  with 
a  splash  and  a  plunge,  until  ankles  were  wet  and 
knees  were  wet — then  a  halt.  The  eight  young 
men  in  oilskins  bustled  about  the  boat,  their 
yellow  coats  and  hats  glistening  in  the  firelight; 
and  the  crowd  stood  silent  at  the  water's  edge, 
looking  first  at  them  and  then  at  the  black-and- 
white  sea  out  yonder — and  an  ugly  sea  it 
was.  But  in  a  moment  the  confusion  resolved 
into  harmony.  The  eight  men  fell  into  place 
around  the  boat,  lashed  on  their  cork  jackets, 
laid  hold  of  the  gunwales,  ran  her  out  into  the 
surf,  tumbled  aboard — and  the  fight  was  on. 

It  was  a  fight  that  made  those  young  fellows 
set  their  teeth  hard  as  their  backs  bent  over  the 
oars.  They  did  not  know  that  this  storm  had 
strewn  the  coast  with  wrecks ;  they  did  not  know 
that  the  veteran  crew  at  Chicago  had  refused  to 
venture  out  in  their  big  English  life-boat.  And 
they  did  not  care.  Too  young  to  be  prudent,  too 
strong  to  be  afraid,  these  youngsters  fought  for 
the  sake  of  the  fighting;  and  they  loved  it.  So 
they  worked  through  the  surf  with  never  a  thought 
of  failure,  with  never  a  thought  that  the  white 
waves  might  beat  them  back ;  and  they  shook  the 


8  THE  WHIP   HAND 

water  out  of  their  eyes  and  watched  Number  Two, 
who  was  pulling  stroke  to-night,  and  went  in  to 
win.  And  all  the  while  the  young  man  standing 
erect  in  the  stern,  swinging  the  twenty-foot 
steering-oar,  was  swearing,  letting  out  a  flow  of 
language  that  would,  as  Number  Two  said  after- 
ward, have  jmade  a  crab  go  forwards.  It  was 
plain  that  he  was  enjoying  it,  too. 

The  fire  was  sinking;  the  drizzle  was  cold  and 
penetrating.  The  little  groups  down  on  the  hard 
sand  near  the  water  were  tired  of  straining  their 
eyes  into  the  blackness.  The  moment  of  enthusi- 
asm was  past.  The  surf-boat  had  slipped  away 
like  a  dream — a  moment  of  tossing  against  the  sky, 
a  glimpse  of  set  faces,  a  shout  or  two  over  the 
pounding  surf,  then  the  lead-black  lake  with  its 
white  flecks,  the  lead-black  sky,  and  the  spot  of 
deeper  black  where  the  steamer  lay.  A  shivering 
fellow  brought  an  armful  of  driftwood  from  a  dry 
nook  and  threw  it  on  the  fire.  The  idea  was  good 
and  the  others  took  it  up.  Soon  the  flames  were 
leaping  up  again. 

And  now  what  more  natural  than  a  song  !  The 
bleached-out  bones  of  a  forty -ton  lumber  schooner 
lay  curving  up  from  the  sand;  here  mounted  a 
student,  he  of  the  white  sweater  and  long  legs, 
and  the  others  crowded  around. 

"  All  right,  Apples;  let  her  go  !" 

And  they  sang  out  merrily  there,  with  the  glare 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  AT  THE  STERN      9 

of  the  fire  in  their  wet  faces  and  the  wildness  of  the 
lake  in  their  throats : 

"  Oh,  my  name  is  Captain  Hall,  Captain  Hall !" 
A  rush  of  wind  carried  the  next  words  down 
the  beach ;  but  the  last  lines  came  out  strong : 

"  Hope  to you  go  to  Hell ! 

Hope  to you're  roasted  well ! 

Damn  your  eyes  ! " 

"Hi-yi!" — it  is  the  small  boy  again.  "  There 
she  is  !  There  she  is  !" 

"Where,  boy?" 

"Out  there— off  the  breakwater!  There- 
see!" 

Again  the  straining  eyes,  again  the  lead-black 
of  the  sky  and  water.  Is  that  the  boat,  that  speck 
of  white  away  out,  or  is  it  a  whitecap?  Now  it 
is  gone.  Has  the  boat  dropped  into  a  hollow  of 
the  sea  ?  Who  knows !  A  white  speck  here, 
another  there,  white  specks  everywhere!  "Boy, 
you're  dreaming.  "  "  Sure  he's  dreaming.  They 
haven't  been  gone  twenty  minutes.  What's  the 
matter  with  you!"  Yes,  it  is  only  twenty  min- 
utes ;  and  there  is  a  weary,  bitter  hour  yet  for  the 
poor  devils  before  they  may  set  foot  on  land. 
Another  song  is  the  cry ;  and  more  wood — -heap  her 
up  !  Again  Apples  mounts  his  grim  perch — the 
head-  and  footstone  of  half  a  dozen  forgotten 
sailors — and  marches  the  "Grand  Old  Duke  of 
York"  up  the  hill,  and  marches  him  down  again; 


io  THE  WHIP  HAND 

and  when  he  was  up  he  was  up,  up,  up ;  and  when 
he  was  down  he  was  down,  down,  down ;  and  when 
he  was  only  half  way  up  he  was  neither  up  nor 
down ;  and  the  rain  thickens ;  and  the  smoke  and 
flames  run  along  parallel  to  the  sand,  so  fierce  is 
the  wind;  and  the  poor  devils  out  yonder  call  up 
what  prayers  they  may  have  known  in  childhood — 
and  lucky  the  sailor  who  remembers  how  those 
prayers  used  to  go ! 

There  is  more  singing  and  more  watching ;  then, 
after  a  long  while,  the  boat  is  sighted.  She  is 
coming  in  from  the  north,  making  full  allowance 
for  the  set  of  the  surf.  As  she  works  slowly 
nearer  they  can  make  out  the  figure  of  the  steers- 
man and  the  huddled  lot  of  crew  men  and  sailors. 
The  fire  is  renewed  again  and  a  shout  goes  up. 
She  hovers  outside  the  line  of  surf,  then  lifts  on  a 
roller  and  comes  swiftly  in  to  the  sand,  so  swiftly 
that  the  oars  must  be  hauled  in  with  a  rush,  and 
the  crew  must  tumble  out,  waist-deep,  and  catch 
the  gunwales  and  heave  her  forward  before  the 
wave  glides  back. 

There  is  one  man  in  the  stern,  rolling  about 
between  the  feet  of  Number  Two.  Even  in  that 
uncertain  light,  and  bedraggled  as  he  is,  it  is  plain 
that  his  dress  is  of  a  different  quality  from  that  of 
the  sailors.  Bareheaded  he  is,  and  one  can  see  the 
white  in  his  hair  and  the  wrinkles  on  his  smooth- 
shaven  face.  It  seems,  too,  that  he  wants  the 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  AT  THE  STERN    n 

physique  of  his  companions,  most  of  whom  are 
able,  for  all  the  exposure,  to  spring  out  without 
assistance.  The  steersman,  who  has  been  watch- 
ing him  with  some  anxiety,  leans  over  and  helps 
him  out,  and  then,  swinging  him  on  his  shoulders, 
carries  him  pickaback  up  out  of  the  water  and 
toward  the  fire.  Word  goes  around  that  this  is 
the  owner  of  the  steamer. 

"Here,  Jack,"  calls  Apples,  bobbing  up  close 
at  hand,  "  you  're  to  go  up  to  the  house  on  the 
bluff.  They  are  making  coffee  for  all  the  boys. 
Let  me  give  you  a  hand. " 

The  steersman  makes  no  reply,  but,  as  his 
burden  protests  that  he  can  walk,  lets  him  down, 
and  each  young  man  takes  an  arm.  In  a  few 
moments  they  are  all,  rescuers  and  rescued,  in  a 
hospitable  kitchen  drinking  black  coffee  and  crowd- 
ing, with  steaming  clothes,  about  the  range. 
The  steersman  drinks  a  second  cup  at  a  gulp  and 
looks  around  for  his  men.  He  is  not  joining  in 
the  talk,  for  a  heavy  responsibility  rests  on  him, 
but  his  eyes  have  the  blaze  of  excitement  in  them 
and  his  square  jaw  is  set  hard.  His  white,  drawn 
face  shows  that  the  work  is  telling. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  he  says  quietly.  "Time  for 
the  next  trip. " 

Quiet  falls  on  the  room  that  was  just  now  loud 
with  talk.  It  continues  while  the  crew  men  toss 
down  their  coffee,  hastily  retie  their  cork  jackets, 


12  THE  WHIP  HAND 

and  file  out  into  the  night.  The  sailors  have  been 
exultant  over  their  rescue;  but  now  they  are 
reminded  of  the  comrades  out  yonder,  and  they 
fall  into  moody  silence. 

But  after  all,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  alive  when 
one  has  been  clinging  to  a  rope  in  a  desperate  sea 
with  ugly  thoughts  to  face.  At  any  rate,  these 
men  seemed  to  find  it  so ;  for,  after  a  time,  when 
doubtless  the  white  surf -boat  was  bobbing  far  out, 
one  of  the  hundred  white  flecks  on  the  black  lake ; 
when  doubtless  the  poor  fellows  who  had  to  wait, 
old  Captain  Craig  with  them,  were  still  cursing 
and  praying — and  one  of  them  had  wept  foolish 
tears  when  they  parted — they  fell  back  into  talk. 
The  drama  had  reached  but  the  second  act,  and 
no  one  could  say  if  it  was  to  be  a  tragedy,  but  the 
warm  kitchen  and  the  plentiful  coffee,  and  the 
thoughtless  talk  of  the  half-dozen  students  who 
had  followed  them  in,  were  not  to  be  resisted. 
Within  half  an  hour  the  banter  and  jokes  were 
flying  fast. 

The  elderly  man,  whose  name  was  Higginson, 
was  sitting  close  to  the  range,  wrapped  in  a 
blanket.  He  found  Apples  at  his  elbow  and  spoke 
to  him. 

"What  crew  is  this?" 

"The  Evanston  crew." 

The  man  nodded  and  was  silent,  but  after  a  few 
moments  he  spoke  again. 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  AT  THE  STERN    13 

"  Who  was  that  young  man  in  the  stern  ?     Is  he 
the  Captain?" 

11  No,  the  Captain  is  sick.     He  is  Number  One. " 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  Halloran— Jack  Halloran. " 


CHAPTER  I 
MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW 

IN  a  mahogany  office  high  up  in  a  very  high 
building  sat  Mr.  G.  Hyde  Bigelow.  An  elaborate 
building  it  was,  with  expensive  statuary  about 
the  entrance,  with  unusually  expensive  mosaic 
floors  on  all  of  the  fifteen  or  more  stories.  A 
dozen  elevators  were  at  Mr.  Bigelow's  service, 
and  a  dozen  uniformed  elevator  boys  to  bow 
deferentially  whenever  he  granted  his  brief 
presence  in  the  necessary  actions  of  going  up  to  his 
office  or  coming  down  from  his  office — boys  that 
were  fond  of  remarking  casually  when  the  great 
man  had  stepped  out,  "That's  G.  Hyde  Bigelow. " 
A  very  expensive  building,  in  fact,  such  as  best 
comported  with  his  dignity. 

For  Mr.  Bigelow  was  a  rising  man;  and  the 
simple  inscription  on  the  ground-glass  door, 
"G.  Hyde  Bigelow  &  Company,"  already  stood 
in  the  eyes  of  a  small  quarter  of  the  financial  world 
of  Chicago  for  unqualified  success.  If  a  syndicate 
was  to  be  floated,  if  a  mysterious  new  combine 
was  to  be  organized,  what  so  important  to  its 
success  as  the  name  of  G.  Hyde  Bigelow  some- 


16  THE  WHIP   HAND 

where  behind  the  venture — what  so  necessary  in 
the  somewhat  difficult  task  of  making  it  plain 
that  paper  is  gold,  that  water  is  a  solid,  as  the 
indorsement  of  G.  Hyde  Bigelow  &  Company? 
If  Bigelow  invested  largely  in  Kentucky  coal 
lands,  what  more  reasonable  than  an  immediate 
boom  in  Kentucky  coal — and  that  men  should 
speak  sagely  on  the  street  of  the  immense  value 
of  the  new  mines  ?  If  Bigelow  went  heavily  into 
the  new-style  freighters  that  were  to  revolutionize 
the  lake-carrying  trade,  what  more  natural  than  a 
rush  in  "new  freighters,"  and  who  could  know  if 
the  Bigelows  should  unload  rapidly  on  an  inflated 
market  ?  But  the  great  man  is  speaking ! 

Before  him,  on  the  mahogany  desk,  were  spread 
some  papers — vastly  important  papers,  or  they 
could  never  have  penetrated  to  the  Presence  to 
take  up  time  of  such  inestimable  value.  "Time 
is  money"  is  a  phrase  that  had  been  heard  to  fall 
from  the  Bigelow  lips.  Perhaps  some  one  else 
had  coined  this  phrase  years  before;  perhaps  Mr. 
Bigelow  himself  might  even  vaguely  remember 
hearing  it :  what  matters  it !  Did  not  old  phrases 
fall  new-minted  from  his  lips  ?  Did  not  the  minor 
earths  and  moons  and  satellites  that  revolved 
about  the  Bigelow  sun  recognize  in  each 
authoritative  Bigelow  utterance  an  addition  to 
the  language?  And  were  there  ever  such  jokes 
as  the  Bigelow  jokes? 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  17 

Before  him  were  the  papers;  beside  him,  in  a 
broad-armed,  leather-backed  mahogany  chair,  sat 
the  junior  partner,  the  "  Company"  of  Bigelow  & 
Company,  Mr.  William  H.  Babcock.  A  youngish 
man  was  Mr.  Babcock;  a  very  well  dressed 
man  with  a  shrewd,  somewhat  incredulous  eye; 
a  man  who  speaks  cautiously,  is  even  inclined  to 
mumble  in  a  low  voice;  and  who  finds  his  worth 
and  caution  recognized  as  a  useful,  if  secondary, 
part  of  the  importance  of  Bigelow  &  Company. 
Lacking  in  the  audacious  qualities  of  his  senior, 
it  would  seem,  but  shrewd,  very  shrewd — not  a 
man  given  to  unnecessary  promises  or  straight- 
out  declarations.  And  if  Mr.  Babcock  had  a 
phrase,  a  creed,  locked  securely  away  in  the 
depths  behind  that  quiet  face,  it  was  "  Business 
is  Business."  Business  was  business  to  Mr. 
Babcock;  and  he  had  hopes,  even  a  fair  prospect, 
indeed,  of  himself  rising  to  a  point  where  Time 
should  be  Money,  thanks  to  the  aid  of  the  Bigelow 
name.  And  in  the  part  of  those  depths  where 
the  thinking  was  done,  the  thought  lurked,  that 
if  the  time  should  ever  come  when  Business-is- 
Business  and  Time-is-Money  should  be  combined 
in  his  career  (and  everything  about  him  tended  to 
combination),  Chicago  would  be  too  small  for 
William  H.  Babcock. 

The  papers  were  before  Mr.  Bigelow,  and  the 
great  brain  was  grappling  with  them;  it  being 


1 8  THE  WHIP   HAND 

Mr.  Babcock's  part  to  weed  out  details  and 
trouble  Mr.  Bigelow  only  with  the  broader  facts. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Babcock, "  said  the  head  of  the 
firm,  "  how  are  we  to  arrive  at  this  ? " 

Mr.  Babcock  leaned  forward  and  mumbled  a  few 
sentences  with  the  air  of  a  man  habitually  afraid 
of  being  overheard  and  caught.  Mr.  Bigelow' s 
brow  drew  together,  in  such  a  state  of  concentra- 
tion was  the  massive  brain.  History  has  not 
recorded  the  subject  of  these  documents ;  whether 
it  was  Kentucky  Coal  or  New  Freighters,  or  the 
booming  town  of  Northwest  Chicago,  or  suburban 
street-railways,  or  one  of  the  dozen  or  more  grow- 
ing interests  that  absorbed  at  this  time  the  atten- 
tion and  some  of  the  money  of  G.  Hyde  Bigelow 
&  Company  (to  say  nothing  of  the  money  of  the 
Bigelow  followers),  we  may  never  know.  For 
at  the  moment  when  the  Bigelow  brows  were 
knitted  the  closest,  when  the  questions  raised  by 
the  papers  were  about  to  attain  a  masterly  and 
decisive  solution,  an  office-boy  entered  the  room— 
a  round-eyed  boy  so  awed  by  the  Presence  that  he 
was  visibly  impatient  to  deliver  his  message  and 
efface  himself — a  boy  who  was  habitually  out  of 
breath. 

"Lady  t'  see  y'u,  sir." 

Mr.  Bigelow  turned  with  some  annoyance. 
How  often  had  his  subordinates  instructed  this 
boy  to  demand  the  card  of  every  visitor  and  to 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  19 

lay  it  silently  on  the  mahogany  desk.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  Mr.  Bigelow  made  it  a  point  to 
rise  above  petty  annoyances. 

"  Well,  boy,  what  is  the  name?" 

"Sh'  wouldn'  give  't,  sir." 

The  great  man's  expression  changed  slightly; 
it  was  as  if  he  had  suddenly  remembered  some- 
thing. He  turned  to  the  desk  and  fingered  the 
papers  for  a  moment. 

"We  will  take  up  this  matter  after  lunch,  Mr. 
Babcock." 

He  spoke  a  shade  more  pompously  than  was  his 
wont  in  dealing  with  his  junior. 

Mr.  Babcock  bowed  and  went  out.  Then  Mr. 
Bigelow  turned  to  his  stenographer,  who  was 
clicking  away  by  the  window. 

"Miss  Brown,  I  wish  you  would  go  out  to  the 
files  and  look  up  all  the  Pine  Lands  correspondence 
for  me." 

The  stenographer  laid  aside  her  work  and  went 
out. 

And  now  Mr.  Bigelow,  once  more  bland  and 
gracious,  turned  to  the  boy  who  was  holding  fast 
to  the  bronze  door-knob. 

" Here,  boy,  you  may  show  the  lady  in." 

Having  said  this,  he  bent  over  a  letter  and  was 
so  busy  that  he  seemed  not  to  hear  the  woman 
enter.  For  some  moments  she  stood  there  by  the 
closed  door.  Once  she  coughed  timidly;  and 


20  THE  WHIP   HAND 

even  that  failed  to  reach  the  attention  of  the 
much-absorbed  man.  But  at  last  the  letter  was 
laid  down  and  Mr.  Bigelow  turned. 

"  Sit  down, "  he  said,  motioning  to  the  chair  that 
Mr.  Babcock  had  just  now  vacated. 

But  the  woman,  it  seemed,  preferred  to  stand. 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  know  why  I  have  come. " 

Mr.  Bigelow  took  up  the  letter  again  and 
regarded  it  closely.  A  great  many  thoughts 
apparently  were  passing  through  his  mind — 
thoughts  not  of  Kentucky  Coal  and  New 
Freighters,  but  of  a  stately  suburban  home  of 
granite  completed  within  the  year;  of  a  certain 
Mrs.  Bigelow  who  was  rising  rapidly  toward  the 
social  leadership  of  her  suburb,  and  was  carrying 
Mr.  G.  Hyde  Bigelow  into  circles  that  he,  with 
all  his  prestige  of  a  sort,  could  hardly  have 
penetrated  alone;  of  a  certain  dignified,  comfort- 
able, downright  conservative  suburban  church, 
where  the  Bigelow  money  and  judgment,  new 
as  they  were  in  such  surroundings,  were 
undoubtedly  earning  a  place;  and,  lastly,  of 
certain  small  Bigelows.  Of  all  these  things 
thought  Mr.  Bigelow. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  without  raising  his 
eyes,  "what  is  it  now ?     What  do  you  want ? " 

"If  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of,"  began  the 
woman,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  and  with  notice- 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  21 

able  effort,  "  I  should  never  come  near  you.  But 
I  have  others  to  think  of,  and  I  think  you  have, 
too.  I  have  not  come  for  money.  If  I  could  do 
it,  I  should  like  to  bring  every  cent  you  have 
given  me  and  throw  it  in  your  face. " 

Rather  unpleasant  words  these- — unpleasant  to 
Mr.  Bigelow,  at  least.  Indeed,  they  seemed  quite 
to  disturb  him,  to  drive  him  even  toward  some- 
thing that  in  a  man  of  smaller  reputation  might 
have  been  called  brutality. 

"See  here,"  he  burst  out,  wheeling  around, 
"how  long  is  this  going  to  keep  up?  How  many 
years  more  must  I  support  you  in  idleness? 
There  is  a  limit  to  this  sort  of  thing. " 

It  may  be  that  this  was  not  so  much  brutality 
as  sagacity.  It  may  be  that  Mr.  Bigelow  had  in 
mind  certain  steps  that  might  relieve  him  from  a 
situation  which  was  growing  more  and  more 
annoying  and  disagreeable,  and  that  this  was  one 
of  the  steps.  For  such  words  as  these — such  a 
blaze  of  righteous  anger — should  be  very  hard  to 
answer  in  a  man's  own  office;  hard  at  least  for 
an  unknown  woman  before  the  great  G.  Hyde 
Bigelow.  Even  if  the  woman  had  come  with 
vague  notions  that  she  was  acting  within  her 
rights,  that  the  law  which  had  severed  her  life 
from  the  life  of  this  man  so  long  ago  would 
support  her  now — what  was  she,  after  all,  but  an 
unfortunate  woman  standing  before  a  great  man  ? 


22  THE  WHIP   HAND 

But  there  was  a  curious  expression  in  her  eyes: 
perhaps  she  was  more  resolute  than  he  supposed; 
perhaps  simply  she  had  reached  a  point  in  wretch- 
edness where  such  words  fail  of  an  impression. 

' '  When  I  told  you  I  should  never  come  to  your 
office,  I  did  not  know  how  you  would  take  advan- 
tage of  me.  I  should  not  have  come  even  now  if 
I  could  have  helped  it.  I  don't  know  if  it  will 
interest  you  to  hear  that  I  have  not  had  enough 
to  eat  this  week. " 

She  was  mistaken;  Mr.  Bigelow  was  interested. 
Indeed,  he  was  beginning  to  recover  himself  and 
to  look  down  on  the  ill-dressed  woman  before  him 
from  the  proper  altitude  of  G.  Hyde  Bigelow. 
As  he  looked  down  he  told  himself  that  he  was 
quite  calm,  that  he  was  standing  frankly  and 
firmly,  as  became  him,  on  his  proper  footing  as  a 
prominent  citizen.  And  such  a  sight  as  this,  an 
ill-dr*essed  woman  standing  in  this  mahogany 
office  and  talking  about  starvation,  was  really 
shocking.  He  felt  that  he  must  dismiss  her, 
must  rid  himself  of  her ;  but  on  the  other  hand  he 
was  really  touched  by  her  distress.  Mr.  Bigelow 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  half  closed  his  eyes. 

"How  long  has  this  been  going  on?"  he  asked, 
in  a  voice  that  showed  signs  of  leading  up  to 
something  further. 

She  gave  him  a  puzzled,  indignant  flash  of  her 
eyes  and  replied  in  the  same  low  voice : 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  23 

"It  is  more  than  fourteen  years." 

More  than  fourteen  years — think  of  it !  For 
fourteen  years  this  woman  had  been  suffering 
for  an  error  of  judgment,  the  mistake  of  two 
deluded  years,  the  mistake  of  giving  her  life  to  the 
wrong  man,  and  now  had  even  faced  starvation 
because  of  it.  So  mistakes  are  punished  in  this 
world.  Mr.  Bigelow,  on  his  part,  looking  down 
from  his  great  altitude,  was  running  over  these 
fourteen  years  and  recalling  the  mistakes  of  his 
own  that  had  brought  this  annoying  visit  upon 
him.  He  had  been  soft-hearted ;  he  saw  it  plainly 
enough  now.  In  his  effort  to  do  right,  to  comply 
voluntarily  with  certain  nominal  requirements 
which  a  less  honourable  man  would  have  easily 
evaded ;  in  his  effort  to  be  kind  to  a  foolish  young 
woman — and  a  very  young  woman  indeed  she 
had  been  at  first — to  humour  her  childish  notions 
of  the  facts  of  this  real  world — his  impulses  had 
carried  him  too  far,  and  she,  of  course,  had 
taken  advantage  of  him.  He  should  have  known 
better. 

"Hum!  More  than  fourteen  years, "  he 
repeated,  still  sitting  in  his  chair  and  looking 
dreamily  at  a  group  picture  of  a  certain  Board 
of  Directors  that  hung  above  his  desk.  "Has  it 
ever  occurred  to  you  to  stop  and  figure  up  how 
much  you  have  cost  me  during  these  years — how 
many  times  I  have  sent  you  large  sums  without  a 


24  THE  WHIP   HAND 

word?  If  you  will  think  of  it  now  you  will 
remember  that  I  have  asked  no  questions — 
that  I  have  known  nothing  whatever  about  your 
life  and  your  acquaintances.  I  have  not  known 
how  real  your  needs  were. " 

He  might  have  gone  on  to  much  plainer  speak- 
ing, even  to  harshness  (it  being  necessary*  some- 
times in  dealing  with  such  people),  had  not  his 
half -shut  eyes  strayed  downward  from  the  Board 
of  Directors  to  her  face.  What  he  saw  there 
seemed  to  weaken  his  self-possession.  And,  for 
another  thing,  it  was  certainly  getting  time  for 
his  stenographer  to  be  returning  with  the  Pine 
Lands  correspondence.  It  was  really  a  rather 
awkward  moment  for  Mr.  Bigelow. 

"Well,"  he  said  abruptly,  opening  his  eyes 
again,  "  there  is  no  use  in  prolonging  this  conversa- 
tion. Tell  me  what  you  have  come  here  for  and 
be  done  with  it." 

It  was  so  abrupt  that  she  had  to  wait  a  moment 
and  compose  herself  before  beginning  in  the  same 
low  tone: 

"I  told  you  I  had  not  come  for  money,  and  I 
meant  it.  I  am  tired  of  begging  for  my  living. 
But  it  would  cost  you  very  little  to  help  me  to 
some  situation.  If  you  will  do  this,  I  will  try  not 
to  trouble  you  again. " 

Mr.  Bigelow  pressed  his  lips  and  beat  a  tattoo 
with  his  fingers. 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  45 

"  What  kind  of  work  can  you  do  ?" 

"I  couldn't  take  skilled  work,  I  suppose,"  she 
replied  a  little  wearily,  "and  I  could  hardly 
expect  an  office  position — at  my  age.  But  I 
have  thought  of  going  into  a  department  store. 
I  really  ought  to  be  able  to  do  something  there." 

Mr.  Bigelow  was  fidgeting  a  little :  he  was 
thinking  of  the  Pine  Lands  correspondence. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  but  what 
that  could  be  arranged.  I  will  speak  to  Murray 
of  the  New  York  store.  He  is  employing  hun- 
dreds of  people  all  the  time,  and  I  know  he  has 
difficulty  in  getting  good  ones. " 

He  finished  with  a  wave  of  dismissal  and  turned 
back  to  his  letter.  But  the  woman  waited. 

"You  will  see  him  to-day?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  yes" — rather  impatiently— •" I  will  try 
to  see  him  this  noon. " 

"And  shall  I  come  back  this  afternoon?" 

Mr.  Bigelow  leaned  back  again. 

"No,  I  hardly  think  that  will  be  necessary. 
Let  me  see— 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  know  if  I  don't  come 
back — unless  you  write  to  me." 

He  hesitated  at  this  and,  thanks  to  his 
hesitation,  received  a  keen  stroke  below  his 
armour. 

"If  it  is  the  writing,"  she  said,  with  quiet, 
bitter  scorn,  "you  know  I  have  letters  enough 


26  THE  WHIP   HAND 

now."  Yes,  she  had,  and  he  knew  it:  there  had 
been  blue  moments  in  his  life  when  he  would  have 
given  a  great  deal  to  get  those  letters  back — 
letters  relating  to  money  matters,  most  of  them; 
explanations  why  certain  sums  were  still  unpaid, 
perhaps ;  letters  sent  back  into  another  life,  a  life 
which  had  gone  under  Mr.  Bigelow's  feet  as  he 
mounted  to  higher  things .  And  she  added :  ' '  You 
needn't  sign  your  name,  if  you'd  rather  not. " 

Yes,  it  was  time  to  close  this  interview.  He 
was  not  enjoying  it  at  all — was  even  willing  to 
concede  a  point  in  order  to  be  rid  of  her.  So  he 
said  shortly: 

"Very  well,  I  will  see  him  at  noon  and 
let  you  know  by  the  morning  delivery  if  he 
has  a  place  for  you."  She  turned  to  go  but 
he  detained  her.  "Here — wait!  I  will  tell 
him  that  you  are  a  cousin  of  mine.  Do  you 
understand?" 

She  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  simply  went  out 
as  swiftly  and  silently  as  possible.  She  was 
evidently  as  glad  as  he  to  be  through  with  it. 
And  Mr.  Bigelow,  after  glancing  at  the  Pine  Lands 
correspondence  and  after  a  look  at  his  watch,  put 
on  his  hat  and  coat  and  left  the  office.  It  was  not 
yet  his  lunch  time,  but  when  bent  upon  a  benevo- 
lent errand  Mr.  Bigelow  ^ould  hear  of  no  delay; 
and  recalling  that  Mr.  Murray  was  usually  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  club  when  he  entered,  he  was 


MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW  27 

willing  even  to  hasten  his  lunch  in  order  to  make 
sure  of  a  chat  with  him. 

And  chat  they  did,  those  two  powerful,  public- 
spirited  ones,  over  their  cigars,  of  the  questions 
of  the  day,  handled  as  only  masters  of  commerce 
could  handle  them;  until  at  length — this  from 
Mr.  Bigelow,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  and  speaking 
casually  over  his  hollowed  hands : 

"  By  the  way,  Murray,  I  have  a  cousin  who  is  in 
a  bad  way — husband  dead,  and  some  children, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  want  to  do  a  little  some- 
thing for  her  if  I  can.  Could  you  give  her  any 
work?" 

u  I'm  afraid  the  best  place  I  could  offer  would 
be  behind  the  counter  in  my  North  Side  store  at 
three  dollars  a  week  or  so. " 

"  She'd  be  grateful  for  anything.  It's  a  mat- 
ter of  keeping  alive. " 

Mr.  Murray  was  always  glad  of  an  opportunity 
to  oblige  Mr.  Bigelow. 

"Send  her  around/  with  a  letter,  and  I  will  do 
the  best  I  can  for  her. " 

And  thus  did  Mr.  Bigelow  free  himself  from  an 
entangling  alliance.  He  had  now  given  the 
woman  an  opportunity  to  prove  her  worth;  if 
after  this  she  should  stumble  into  dark  ways, 
there  would  be  only  herself  to  blame.  It  had 
cost  him  considerable  effort,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
time ;  but  had  it  not  been  worth  while  ? 


CHAPTER  II 
Low  LIFE 

"  Dear  Mr.  Halloran:  Won't  you  come  down  to 
the  Settlement  Friday  evening?  The  young 
men's  class  and  the  girls'  class  are  going  to  enter- 
tain themselves,  and  Mr.  Appleton  Le  Due  has 
promised  to  help  them.  I  want  to  have  another 
talk  with  you  about  George.  We  have  heard 
nothing  from  him  for  a  week,  and  I  am  afraid  he 
is  in  trouble.  After  such  encouragement  as  he 
has  given  us  I  don't  like  to  let  go  of  him. 

"  Be  sure  to  come  if  you  can. 

1  'Very  sincerely  yours, 

"MARGARET  DAVIES." 

The  above  note  accounts  for  the  presence  of 
Halloran  and  Le  Due  (he  of  the  nimble  legs)  in  a 
suburban  train,  on  that  Friday  evening,  bound 
for  Clybourn  and  the  Settlement.  A  few  seats 
behind  ^hem  sat  Miss  Davies,  escorted  by  Mr. 
Babcock,  a  young  business  man  who  seemed  to 
be  going  in  heartily  for  charity  work  at  this  time. 
Le  Due  was  talking  earnestly  with  Halloran. 
Apparently  a  momentous  question  had  arisen  in 

28 


LOW  LIFE  29 

his  life,  and  the  young  man  beside  him,  who  had 
had  plenty  of  experience  in  earning  his  own  living, 
who  could  steer  a  life-boat  in  a  boiling  sea,  whose 
generalship  alone,  it  was  conceded  by  one  party 
in  college,  had  won  the  Chicago  game  that  fall, 
was,  he  felt  sure,  the  best  counselor  to  be  found 
in  the  difficult  task  of  guiding  a  life  straight 
toward  its  destiny. 

"I  don't  know  another  fellow  I  could  come  to 
with  a  question  like  this,  Jack ;  but  you  understand 
these  things;  you  know  life.  You've  learned 
things  already  that  the  rest  of  us  spend  the  most 
of  our  lives  finding  out.  Now  what  would  you 
say — how  far  do  you  think  a  man  ought  to  go  in 
sticking  to  the  idea  of  an  education?"  Le  Due's 
"education, "  for  several  years  now,  had  consisted 
of  the  study  of  elocution,  with  an  occasional  peck 
at  English  Literature  or  the  French  language, 
and  a  few,  a  very  few,  disastrous  examinations. 
"I've-  got  an  offer  to  quit  college  right  now  to  go 
in  as  second  comedian  with  the  Pooh  Bah  Com- 
pany. They  offer  thirty  dollars  a  week  to  begin 
with,  with  every  prospect  for  a  future.  It  is  a 
rising  company,  you  see — a  sure  thing.  They 
are  as  safe  as  the  First  National  Bank.  If  that 
were  just  the  work  I  wanted,  I  couldn't  do 
better." 

Halloran  was  sitting  back  with  his  hat  down 
on  his  forehead,  listening  conscientiously,  but 


3o  THE  WHIP   HAND 

losing  a  word  now  and  then,  thanks  to  the  roar 
of  the  train. 

"You  see,  old  chap,  I  set  my  mind  on  Shake- 
speare when  I  first  came  to  college.  I  decided 
then  it  would  be  Shakespeare  or  nothing  with  me. 
A  man's  got  to  have  a  goal,  you  know;  he's  got 
to  aim  high  or  he  will  never  get  anywhere;  and 
my  goal  has  been  Shakespeare.  But  the  question 
is  just  this:  Ought  I  to  give  up  this  offer,  when 
it  may  be  my  chance  to  get  a  good  start  on  the 
stage  ?  I  might  be  able  to  work  up  into  Shake- 
speare by  keeping  at  this  for  awhile,  and  making 
a  professional  acquaintance,  and  saving  up  money. 
Men  have  done  it,  you  know.  What  do  you  say  ? ' ' 

He  evidently  really  expected  an  answer,  so 
Halloran  gave  it  to  him. 

"I  am  afraid  you'll  have  to  decide  that  for 
yourself,  Apples.  If  you  care  enough  for  first- 
class  work  to  stick  it  out  in  college  and  then  take 
your  chances,  you  ought  to  do  it:  if  you  don't, 
take  this.  That's  all  I  can  say. " 

With  which  casual  conversation  did  an  evening 
begin  that  later  promised  to  influence  considerably 
the  lives  of  several  members  of  the  party. 

They  found  a  crowd  of  ragged  boys  and  girls  at 
the  Settlement.  Le  Due  was  to  "  read  "  for  them ; 
but  he  found  himself  fairly  eclipsed  by  the  per- 
formances of  two  of  their  own  number,  one  a 
youthful  dancer  with  a  wizened  face  and  remark- 


LOW  LIFE  31 

ably  thin  legs,  named  Jimmie  McGinnis,  the  other 
a  dark-eyed  girl,  one  Lizzie  Bigelow,  who  sang 
some  popular  songs  in  a  really  good  natural  voice. 

This  girl  made  an  immediate  impression  on 
Apples.  At  the  close  of  her  first  song  he  stopped 
applauding  long  enough  to  say  confidentially  to 
Halloran,  "Remarkable  what  a  lot  of  talent  you 
find  among  these  people.  That  girl  ought  to  be 
in  the  profession.  Really  a  stunning  girl — and 
clever,  awfully  clever.  Splendid!  Splendid!" 
he  exclaimed  again,  turning  toward  her  as  she 
came  into  the  hall,  and  applauding  vigorously. 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head,  but  made  no 
reply.  She  evidently  liked  applause. 

"You  must  have  studied — to  sing  like  that,'' 
Le  Due  went  on. 

She  flushed  with  pleasure,  but  only  shook  her 
head  again  and  sat  down  on  the  stairs  to  listen 
to  the  next  recitation. 

As  Le  Due  stepped  out,  bowing  with  his  easy, 
good-natured  smile,  Miss  Da  vies  saw  her  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  Halloran.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  evening  she  had  talked  a  moment  with 
Lizzie  Bigelow,  but  with  unsatisfactory  results 
as  her  troubled  expression  showed.  She  now  led 
the  way  to  a  sitting-room  behind  the  stairs.  For 
a  short  space  they  were  silent — this  young  woman 
who,  with  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  with  sanguine- 
ness  hardly  justified  by  the  facts  of  the  black  city 


32  THE  WHIP  HAND 

that  was  pulsing  around  her,  had  plunged  into 
its  darkness  the  feeble  light  of  her  hopes — and 
this  young  man  who  knew  so  well  the  difficulty 
of  climbing  up  from  sloth  and  incompetency  and 
vicious  ignorance  that  he  was  willing  to  help. 
He  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  stood  wait- 
ing for  her  to  begin.  He  liked  to  look  at  her, 
she  was  so  earnest  and  unconscious  of  herself ; 
perhaps,  too,  because  she  was  well  worth 
looking  at,  with  her  clear,  delicate  skin  now  a 
little  flushed  and  the  masses  of  brown  hair  above 
her  forehead. 

"I  wrote  you,"  she  began,  "that  we  have  lost 
track  of  George.  He  was  here  as  usual  a  week 
ago  Wednesday,  but  then  he  disappeared.  Lizzie, 
his  sister,  says  they  have  no'  idea  where  he  is; 
and  I  don't  think  she  cares  very  much.  She  says 
he  can  look  out  for  himself,  and  that  is  more  than 
they  can  do  for  him  at  home.  Now  what  are  we 
to  do?" 

"Have  you  seen  his  mother?" 

"No — not  yet.  She  always  rebuffs  me.  If 
she  were  more  like  our  other  women  it  would  be 
easier.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you  first,  and  see 
if  we  couldn't  think  of  some  way  to  find  him. " 

"But  we  have  no  clue.  She  might  be  able  to 
give  us  a  hint.  Even  to  learn  something  about 
his  loafing  places  would  be  a  start — something 
to  work  from." 


LOW  LIFE  33 

"I  suppose — if  she  would  tell.  She  is  proud, 
you  know.  But  we  must  do  something.  I  can't 
leave  that  boy  wandering  around  the  city  like 
this.  The  first  thing  we  will  hear  of  him  in  jail, 
and  after  that—  She  ended  with  a  shake  of 

the  head. 

At  a  thought  that  entered  his  mind  Halloran 
smiled  slightly.  ' '  Have  you  talked  with  Jimmie  ?' ' 
he  asked. 

"Jimmie  McGinnis?"     She  had  to  smile,  too. 

' '  He  might  tell  something.  One  always  knows 
what  the  other  is  up  to.  I  can't  think  of  any 
other  way." 

She  looked  earnestly  at  him  as  she  asked: 

"  Will  you  try  it — if  I  bring  him  here  ? " 

He  nodded,  and  soon  she  returned  with  him. 

Jimmie  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  his  small 
eyes  devoid  of  expression,  his  inscrutable  thin 
face  as  innocent  as  that  of  a  sleeping  baby. 

"Sit  down,  Jimmie,"  said  Halloran,  "Miss 
Davies  and  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  George. " 

Jimmie  seated  himself  and  waited  respectfully, 
his  thin  legs  dangling  off  the  floor,  his  hands 
clasped  meekly  in  his  lap.  He  was  always  willing 
to  be  talked  to — rather  enjoyed  it,  in  fact — was 
particularly  fond  of  moral  lectures;  had  a  keen 
little  mind  somewhere  behind  his  narrow  forehead, 
and  could  bring  himself  to  discuss  moral  questions 
with  his  lady  teachers,  showing  all  the  symptoms 


34  THE   WHIP   HAND 

of  an  eager  water-lily  striving  upward  from  its 
dark  bed  toward  the  light  of  day.  Miss  Davies 
he  understood  perfectly  and  really  liked,  in  a  way. 
She  was  good — and  why  not?  Who  wouldn't  be 
good  with  plenty  to  eat  and  wear,  with  fathers 
and  mothers,  and  grand  suburban  homes  with 
real  trees  about  them  (he  had  been  taken  out 
there  once  for  some  Fresh  Air,  on  which  occasion 
he  had  seen  a  cow  for  the  first  time  in  his  life). 
But  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  Halloran,  and  inclined 
to  grow  secretive  in  his  presence.  To  sum  him  up, 
Jimmie  was  already  launched  upon  a  professional 
career — he  sold  score-cards  at  the  baseball  park — 
and  he  fully  realized  the  importance  of  his  place 
in  life ;  even  hoped  some  day  to  be  a  manager  and 
walk  out  to  the  players'  bench  before  the  game  in 
a  checked  suit,  announce  the  battery  of  the  day, 
and  toss  out  the  new  ball  from  a  capacious  pocket, 
a  new  ball  in  a  red  box  with  a  white  seal  around  it. 

"Now,  Jimmie,  do  you  know  where  he  is?" 

Jimmie  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  sir.  I  heard  some  one  say  he  hadn't  been 
around  for  a  week. " 

Halloran  threw  a  quick  glance  at  Miss  Davies; 
but  it  was  not  too  quick  for  Jimmie. 

"He  has  run  off,  Jimmie,  and  we  want  to  find 
him.  It  don't  make  any  difference  why  he  went. 
Anybody's  likely  to  get  into  trouble  now  and 
then;  and  I'm  not  going  to  ask  any  questions. 


€ 


JIMMIE 


LOW   LIFE  35 

But  if  he  has  lost  his  job  or  got  into  trouble  I 
think  we  could  help  him." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  sure  you  could,"  Jimmie  replied 
gratefully;  and  what  little  expression  there  was 
in  his  face  said  plainly  enough,  "Don't  I  know 
how  you  have  helped  me  ? ' '  And  then  he  added 
in  eagerness  to  assist,  "I  could  stop  at  the  box- 
factory,  if  you  like,  and  see  if  he  ain't  working  any 


more." 


"All  right,  I  wish  you  would.  Tell  us  about  it 
Monday  at  class.  That's  all. " 

At  this  Jimmie  got  soberly  down  from  the 
chair  and  went  out,  leaving  Miss  Da  vies  and 
Halloran  to  look  at  each  other  expressively. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?"  said  she. 

"  He  is  going  straight  to  warn  him.  Something 
is  the  matter.  We  must  try  his  mother  now. 
And  we  ought  to  do  it  quickly — before  Monday. " 

Miss  Da  vies  mused  for  a  moment.  "We  could 
hardly  get  there  to-night— we  might  go  to-morrow 
afternoon,  when  she  gets  back  from  her  work.  I 
will  arrange  to  have  dinner  here." 

Halloran  nodded ;  and  they  returned  to  the  hall. 

Jimmie  was  dancing  again  when  they  reached 
the  parlour  door,  to  music  by  one  of  the  resident 
teachers  who  had  volunteered  to  take  the  place  of 
Miss  Da  vies.  Apples  had  disappeared  and  Lizzie 
Bigelow  also.  Miss  Davies  looked  around  for 
them ;  then,  realizing  after  a  moment  that  Jimmie's 


36  THE  WHIP   HAND 

feet  were  not  the  only  ones  that  were  stepping  in 
time  to  the  music,  she  glanced  up  the  stairway. 
A  laugh  from  the  upper  hall  and  the  fling  of  a 
skirt  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  brought  a  puzzled 
expression  to  her  face.  But  the  explanation 
came  in  a  moment.  Just  as  Jimmie  stopped 
dancing  and  was  turning  toward  the  hall,  Apples 
came  running  down  the  stairs,  a  cane  in  his  hand, 
and  after  him  Lizzie  Bigelow,  laughing,  nearly 
breathless,-  and  with  a  heightened  colour. 

"Oh,  Miss  Davies, "  Apples  exclaimed  with  all 
his  good-natured  assurance  on  the  surface,  "Miss 
Bigelow  and  I  are  going  to  do  a  cake-walk,  and 
we  want  you  to  play  for  us — a  good,  lively  march, 
with  a  lot  of  jump  in  it. " 

Miss  Davies  looked  at  him  surprised,  then  at 
Lizzie ;  finally,  in  distress,  she  turned  to  Halloran. 
But  he  found  nothing  to  say.  Before  Miss  Davies 
could  collect  her  wits  and  think  of  some  excuse 
Apples  was  blundering  on. 

"  Play  the  one  you  did  for  the  boy — that'll  do 
splendidly.  We've  been  practising  up-stairs,  and 
it  goes  mighty  well.  We'd  better  do  it  now, 
before  we  get  our  steps  mixed.  Miss  Bigelow 
says  she'd  rather  do  this  than  the  song  she  is 
down  to  sing — didn't  you?"  he  added,  appealing 
to  her. 

She  assented  rather  shamefacedly,  and  Miss 
Davies  gave  up.  There  was  no  rule  against  cake- 


LOW  LIFE  37 

walks,  and  she  herself  had  invited  Le  Due  to 
entertain  the  boys  and  girls;  so  she  concealed 
her  dislike  for  this  juvenile  way  of  overstepping 
boundaries  and  went  to  the  piano.  Halloran  was 
downright  sorry  for  her,  but  he  did  not  see  what 
he  could  do. . 


CHAPTER  III 
GEORGE  AND  His  TROUBLES 

HALLO  RAN  foresaw  that  it  might  be  late  Satur- 
day evening  before  Miss  Davies  and  he  could 
return  to  Evanston,  so  he  arranged  with  another 
member  of  the  crew  to  stand  his  watch  from  ten 
to  midnight;  and  then,  knowing  nothing  of  what 
might  be  before  them,  these  two  young  people 
set  out  on  their  search  for  George. 

Picture  a  tenement  far  out  on  the  North  Side, 
one  of  thousands  of  smoke-coloured  buildings, 
somewhere  on  an  obscure  street  that  was  dis- 
couragingly  like  dozens  of  other  streets.  Without 
the  tenement  an  electric  light  (for  it  was  six 
o'clock  and  dark  on  this  autumn  day)  threw  its 
flare  on  an  uneven  cedar-block  pavement,  worn 
into  ruts  and  holes  that  had  given  up,  hopeless 
of  repair,  to  mud  and  filth ;  on  obscure  little  tailor 
shops  and  masquerade-costume  shops,  and  dirty 
tobacco  shops  with  windows  hung  full  of  ques- 
tionable prints;  on  an  itinerant  popcorn-and- 
peanut  man,  who  had  stationed  his  glass-enclosed 
cart  on  the  corner  and  was  himself  sitting  on  the 
curbstone,  the  picture  of  disgust  with  life;  on  a 

38 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    39 

prosperous  red-brick  corner  building,  that  shed 
light  and  comfort  from  half  a  dozen  broad 
windows,  announcing  itself  by  its  curtained 
inner  door  and  its  black-and-gilt  signs  to  be 
Hoffman's  sample  room.  So  much  for  the 
neighbourhood.  Within  the  tenement,  up  three 
flights  of  stairs,  was  an  apartment  of  two 
rooms  where  lived  Mrs.  Craig  with  her 
daughter  and  her  son,  who  bore  the  name 
of  Bigelow. 

Lizzie  was  sewing:  her  mother,  back  home  for 
supper  in  the  intermission  between  the  work  of 
afternoon  and  evening,  was  taking  off  her  hat. 

"Is  the  fire  going,  Lizzie?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  without  looking  up. 
"How  did  I  know  you  were  coming  home  so 
early?" 

"It  is  six  o'clock." 

"Well,  how  do  you  suppose  I'm  ever  going  to 
get  my  work  done  if  I  have  to  make  fires  for  you  ? 
Where's  George,  I'd  like  to  know!  That's  his 
business,  anyway." 

Mrs.  Craig,  herself  wondering  where  George  was, 
went  to  the  next  room  and  built  the  fire  herself. 

A  few  moments  later  Halloran  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  Miss  Davies  and  he  were  admitted. 
And  while  Miss  Davies  was  opening  the  subject, 
trying  with  the  utmost  delicacy  to  obtain  the 
confidence  of  this  woman,  trying  to  show  by 


40  THE   WHIP   HAND 

simple,  honest  words  how  sincerely  she  and 
Halloran  were  interested  in  George,  another  boy, 
a  small,  wizened-faced  boy  with  thin  legs,  was 
hiding  in  a  doorway  across  the  street,  watching 
with  keen  little  eyes  for  their  exit  and  pondering 
with  a  keen  little  mind  on  their  probably  next 
move. 

Miss  Davies  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  she  had 
not  overestimated  the  difficulty  of  talking  with 
Mrs.  Craig.  Or  was  it  the  present  topic  that  made 
it  a  little  easier  ?  For  she  had  come  now  with  no 
offers  of  food,  or  coal  for  the  fires ;  but  only  to  talk 
about  George,  to  see  if  she  and  the  young  man 
with  her  might  not,  by  giving  their  time  and 
interest,  make  the  search  easier.  And  the  main 
difficulty  seemed  now  to  be  that  the  woman  knew 
no  more  about  it  than  they  did. 

"  It  was  early  last  week, "  she  explained,  speak- 
ing quietly,  in  a  voice  that  had  been  brought  to  a 
dead  level  by  habitual  restraint.  "He  went  off 
to  work  as  usual,  after  dinner,  and  said  he  would 
be  back  to  supper.  I  don't  know  where  he 
can  be.  He  has  never  been  a  bad  boy. " 

Lizzie,  now  that  so  much  trouble  was  going  on 
about  George,  began  to  feel  unusually  sorrowful 
herself — was  even  moved  to  tears,  and  had  to  go 
into  the  other  room  and  bustle  about  getting 
supper  ready  before  she  could  bring  her  feelings 
under  control. 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    41 

"Mr.  Halloran  thought  the  best  thing  would  be 
to  go  out  and  search  for  him, ' '  said  Miss  Davies. 
"And  he  thought  you  could  help—  She 

turned  to  him  and  finished  by  saying,  "  Won't  you 
explain  to  Mrs.  Craig?" 

"Can  you  tell  us,"  he  responded,  "of  some 
place  in  the  neighbourhood  that  George  has  been 
in  the  habit  of  going  to — some  place  where  he  has 
friends?" 

Mrs.  Craig  shook  her  head.  "  No ;  when  he  was 
not  working  he  was  almost  always  at  home. " 

"  But  he  surely  had  acquaintances.  You  see, 
Mrs.  Craig,  we  must  have  some  place  to  start 
from." 

She  thought  for  a  moment.  "No;  so  far  as  I 
know,  there  was  only  one  man  in  the  neighbour- 
hood who  took  the  least  interest  in  him.  And 
he  wouldn't  know  anything  about  this.  We  have 
not  lived  here  so  very  long " 

"Who  is  this  man?" 

"  Mr.  Hoffman,  on  the  corner.  He  has  been 
kind  to  George,  once  or  twice. " 

Halloran  rose,  saying  aside  to  Miss  Davies,  "  I 
will  speak  to  him  and  come  back  here, "  and  went 
out. 

He  found  a  stout  German  behind  the  bar  in 
the  corner  saloon  who  proved,  upon  inquiry, 
to  be  Hoffman  himself.  He  was  a  substantial 
sort  of  man,  speaking  excellent  English,  and 


42  THE  WHIP   HAND 

representing,  if  one  could  judge  from  the  neat, 
well-stocked  bar,  the  clean  floor,  the  geraniums 
in  the  windows,  and  the  general  air  of  thrift  and 
order,  what  he  might  have  been  pleased  to  call  a 
decent  saloon.  Halloran  began  without  prelimi- 
nary by  asking  Hoffman  if  he  knew  George 
Bigelow, 

The  saloon-keeper  rested  both  hands  on  the 
bar  and  looked  across  it,  scrutinizing  him  closely 
before  answering, 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  boy  of  that  name  around  here. " 
"He  disappeared  from  home  last  week  and  his 
family  are  worried  about  him.     I  have  been  told 
that  you  might  help  me  find  him. " 

Hoffman  shook  his  head,  still  watching  him 
closely.  " No, "  he  said ;  "I  know  nothing  about 
him," 

" Has  he  been  about  here  at  all  lately?" 
"  No ;  it  is  two  weeks  since  I  saw  him. " 
The  honest  German  face  had  the  word  suspicion 
plainly  written  on  it.     Halloran  saw  that  he  was 
not  getting  at  the  man  at  all,  so  he  leaned  on  the 
bar  and  explained  himself. 

"I  have  come  from  the  University  Settlement. 
George  has  been  at  class  there  regularly  until 
lately.  His  teachers  believe  in  him  and  want  to 
help  him.  They  are  afraid  now  that  he  has  got 
into  trouble  and  is  afraid  to  come  back.  Do 
you  know  anything  about  it?" 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    43 

For  reply  Hoffman  asked: 

"  What  is  your  name  ? " 

"Halloran." 

"  You  come  from  the  Settlement?" 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Craig  ?" 

"I  have  just  come  from  there.  Miss  Davies, 
George's  teacher,  is  with  her  now. " 

The  big  man  slowly  turned  it  over  in  his  mind. 
Finally  he  said: 

' '  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know,  but  it  is  not  very 
much.  There  is  another  little  boy  named 
McGinnis  who  is  around  with  him  most  of 
the  time.  The  McGinnis  boy  worked  at  the 
ball  park  until  the  season  closed  last  week. 
For  ten  days  now  he  has  been  coming  here  for  a 
glass  of  beer  pretty  often,  and  he  always  carries 
away  the  lunch.  You  say  you  want  to 
help  George?" 

Halloran  nodded. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think."  He 
used  the  word  ' 'think,"  but  his  expression 
showed  that  he  knew  pretty  nearly  the  facts. 
"McGinnis  has  an  uncle,  a  boat-builder,  who 
has  a  place  under  the  Wells  Street  Bridge.  You 
go  down  there  and  you  will  learn  more  than  I 
can  tell  you. " 

Halloran  thanked  him  and  returned  to  Miss 
Davies.  Mrs.  Craig,  he  found,  was  getting  ready 


44  THE  WHIP   HAND 

to  go  back  to  work.  They  were  all  waiting 
anxiously  for  him. 

"  I  think  we  are  started  right,  "  he  said  cheerily, 
addressing  the  mother.  ' '  I  will  be  back  later  in 
the  evening  and  report  progress."  To  Miss 
Da  vies  he  said:  "You  would  rather  wait  at  the 
Settlement,  I  suppose.  I  shan't  be  back  probably 
before  eight  or  nine  o'clock. " 

"Why,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice  as  they  were 
passing  out  the  door,  "don't  you  want  me  to  go 
with  you?" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  I  could  hardly  take  you 
prowling  around  the  wharves  at  night. "  And  he 
told  her,  as  they  went  down  the  stairs  behind 
Mrs.  Craig,  what  directions  the  saloon-keeper  had 
given  him.  They  were  still  talking  about  it  when 
they  joined  the  woman  on  the  sidewalk;  and  then 
the  three  of  them  walked  together  to  the  second 
corner,  talking  it  over  and  over  again.  For  Mrs. 
Craig  was  beginning  to  discover  that  the  young 
people  were  downright  interested  in  her  and  in 
her  boy.  There  was  no  gracious  down-reaching 
here,  no  lending  a  kind  hand  to  the  unfortunate; 
but  just  a  young  woman  who  believed  she  could 
help,  and  a  young  man  who  knew  a  little  of  what 
it  all  meant;  in  short,  here  were  two  real  persons 
who  said  little  and  meant  more.  She  was  not 
afraid,  as  she  looked  at  them,  that  they  would 
pray  for  her,  loudly  and  zealously,  kneeling  on 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES  .  45 

the  floor  of  her  own  tenement  rooms.  And  she 
was  inclined  to  wonder,  looking  out  at  them 
across  her  own  sea  of  troubles,  what  life  was  to 
hold  for  them. 

Something  of  this  last  thought  got  into  her 
manner  as  she  took  their  hands  at  parting; 
indeed,  her  reserve  so  nearly  broke  that  she  gave 
them — not  singly,  but  the  two  of  them  together — 
a  look  that  brought  a  faint  blush  to  the  young 
woman's  cheek  and  to  her  mind  other  thoughts 
than  George  and  his  difficulties- — thoughts  that 
disturbed  her  a  little  later  when  she  and  Halloran 
were  walking  toward  the  Settlement,  so  foolish 
and  trivial  were  they  beside  the  realities  of  the 
scene  that  had  passed — thoughts  that  were 
resolutely  put  from  her  mind. 

At  the  Settlement  steps  she  lingered  a  moment. 

"I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,"  she  said, 
hesitating.  "  There  is  pride  in  the  family,  and 
George  has  his  share  of  it.  If  you — if  he  should 
think  you  blamed  him  or  looked  down  on  him,  he 
would  never  come  back  with  you.  He  has  always 
been  hard  to  reach,  and  I  think  it  is  because  of  a 
rough  sort  of  sensitiveness. " 

Was  it  unreasonable  that  she  should  wish  to 
continue  handling  this  case,  just  now  when  tact 
was  so  urgently  needed  ?  Or  that  she  should  give 
Halloran  a  hint  of  the  best  course  to  take  with 
the  boy? 


46  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"I  don't  blame  him,"  he  replied.  "The  way 
to  help  him  is  to  make  him  feel  like  somebody. 
If  you  once  let  him  get  to  thinking  that  he  is 
good  for  nothing  he'll  run  down  hill  fast. 
Jimmie  McGinnis,  now,  will  take  all  the  knocks 
you  can  give  him,  and  go  right  on  turning  his 
pennies;  he  will  be  in  the  City  Council  yet. " 

She  nodded,  for  she  saw  that  he  understood. 
And  he  turned  away  to  begin  the  search,  walking 
over  to  the  car-line.  As  he  sat  down  in  the  first 
trailer  a  small  boy  ran  alongside  the  rear  car  and 
swung  himself  aboard,  hurriedly  drawing  in  a 
pair  of  thin  legs  after  him. 

Through  gloomy  Kinzie  Street  walked  Halloran, 
when  he  had  reached  the  river  district,  and  after 
him,  half  a  block  or  more,  came  the  thin  legs. 
He  got  to  the  bridge  by  the  Northwestern  Station, 
crossed  over,  and  looked  around  for  a  means  of 
descent  to  the  wharves.  After  a  moment  he  saw 
in  the  shadow  of  a  brick  building — a  building 
that  was  a  South  Water  Street  market  in  front, 
a  factory  in  the  upper  half  and  a  tug-office  behind 
—what  seemed  to  be  a  break  in  the  railing.  He 
crossed  to  it  and  found,  sure  enough,  a  narrow 
stairway,  covered  with  mud  and  slime,  leading 
down  toward  the  oily  surface  of  the  river.  It 
was  curious — he  had  crossed  the  bridge  a  hundred 
times,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  there 
was  any  life  below  the  street,  that  men  came  and 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    47 

went  down  there  on  the  strip  of  wharf,  so  narrow 
that  it  seemed  little  more  than  a  fender  for  the 
buildings  that  backed  on  the  river.  Picking  his 
way  carefully  to  avoid  slipping,  he  walked  down. 

Not  far  away,  in  the  basement  of  one  of  these 
buildings,  was  a  sailors'  grog-shop:  hardly  three 
rods  from  the  bridge -walk,  even  in  sight  from  it, 
yet  so  quietly  tucked  away  below  story  on  story 
of  brick  building,  behind  half  a  dozen  smoking 
tugs,  in  a  spot  where  no  sober  doorway,  no  saloon 
doorway  even,  had  a  right  to  be — so  hidden,  in 
fact,  that  not  half  a  dozen  of  the  tens  of  thousands 
of  people  on  the  bridge  daily  had  ever  observed  it. 
It  was  a  wonder  how  a  drunken  man  could  ever 
get  out  through  the  door  without  falling  into  the 
river — perhaps  one  did  fall  now  and  then.  There 
was  music  in  the  saloon  now — a  squeaking  fiddle 
and  loud  noises. 

Beyond,  the  river  was  splashed  with  red  and 
white  and  green  from  lanterns  and  side-lights ;  and 
a  dozen  masts,  their  spars  and  rigging  apparently 
interlaced,  were  outlined  against  the  western 
sky.  At  the  moment  a  big  freighter,  bound  out, 
was  headed  for  the  draw,  forging  slowly  and 
almost  silently  down  the  sluggish  stream,  passing 
along  like  some  dim  modern  Flying  Dutchman. 
Above,  on  the  bridge,  cars  were  rumbling  and 
footsteps  were  pattering— the  feet  of  the  late 
suburbanites  hurrying  to  their  trains.  All  Chicago 


48  THE  WHIP   HAND 

was  alive  and  bustling  above  him  and  around 
him;  but  here,  at  the  end  of  a  crooked  passage, 
was  a  quiet  spot — a  shop  filled  with  boats,  com- 
pleted and  uncompleted;  and  sprawled  on  his 
stomach  behind  one  of  the  boats,  a  cigarette  in 
his  mouth,  an  Old  Sleuth  story  spread  on  the 
boards  before  him,  a  candle  stuck  in  a  beer  bottle 
at  his  elbow,  was  a  boy,  who  was  trying  to  believe 
that  he  was,  in  spite  of  cold  feet  and  sniffling  nose, 
really  tough  and  comfortable. 

"Well,  George,"  said  Halloran,  " how's  busi- 
ness?" 

George  started,  turned  pale,  and  hastily  took 
the  cigarette  from  his  mouth;  then  remembering 
his  independence,  he  as  hastily  put  it  back. 
Halloran  sat  down  on  the  stern  of  a  ship's  boat 
and  filled  his  pipe. 

"Miss  Davies  and  I  heard  you  were  in  hard 
luck,"  he  went  on,  "and  I  thought  I'd  look  you 
up  and  see  what's  the  matter." 

George  had  not  been  able  to  speak  until  now. 
He  sat  up,  pulled  doggedly  a  moment  at  his 
cigarette,  and  said  in  a  very  sulky  tone : 

"Who  told  you  I  was  here?" 

Halloran  would  have  been  glad  to  answer  him, 
but  as  it  fell  out  no  reply  was  necessary.  For 
just  as  he  was  pausing  to  light  his  pipe  a  step  was 
heard  in  the  passage  and  a  wizened-faced  boy 
appeared  in  the  outer  circle  of  the  candle-light. 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    49 

It  was  Jimmie,  eyeing  Halloran  with  distrust, 
glancing  apologetically  at  George,  more  disturbed, 
in  fact,  than  Halloran  had  yet  seen  him.  To  him 
now  George  turned  a  reproachful'  face. 

"I  never  done  it,  George,"  said  Jimmie.  "I'd 
a-busted  first.  He  went  around  to  old  Hoffman 
and  he  put  him  onto  my  uncle.  I  see  him  go  in 
there  and  I  followed  him  up. " 

"That's  right,  George, "  Halloran  put  in  by  way 
of  seconding  Jimmie.  "We  couldn't  get  a  word 
out  of  him.  It  was  your  mother  that  sent  me  to 
Hoffman.  But  I've  come  down  to  talk  with  you, 
and  I'm  not  sorry  that  Jimmie  is  here.  Now, 
what's  the  trouble  ?  Tell  me  about  it ;  and  then 
I  will  see  what  we  can  do  for  you. " 

The  two  boys  looked  at  each  other.  George 
had  been  told  so  often  by  certain  Settlement 
workers  never  to  smoke,  never  to  read  bad  books, 
never  to  be  seen  in  company  with  beer  bottles, 
he  had  supposed  that  of  course  these  things  would 
be  the  first  subjects  under  discussion;  and  the 
omission  disconcerted  him.  Jimmie,  meanwhile, 
being  the  shrewder  of  the  two,  was  signaling  him 
to  go  ahead  and  spit  it  out.  So  he  began,  in  a 
blundering,  sullen  sort  of  a  way ;  stumbled,  blushed 
and  stopped.  Finally  Jimmie  had  to  take  it  up. 

"You  see,  it's  just  this  way.  George's  folks 
was  getting  down  pretty  close  to  the  boards,  and 
they  was  the  rent  coming,  and  George  he  had  his 


50  THE   WHIP   HAND 

week's  pay,  but  it  wasn't  enough,  so  I  just  told 
him" — very  patronizing  here,  was  Jimmie,  as 
became  a  young  capitalist  who  had  once  clasped 
the  hand  of  Captain  Anson — ' '  I  told  him  to  give 
it  to  me  and  I'd  put  it  up  on  the  Washington 
game,  with  a  little  wad  of  my  own.  It  was  an 
easy  mark,  'cause  the  Washingtons  were  tail- 
enders,  and  I  had  hold  of  their  mascot,  and  he 
was  willing  to  put  up  even.  It'was  like  taking  the 
money  out  of  his  pocket,  but  a  man  can't  throw 
away  a  chance  like  that-— and  then  I'll  be  damned 
if  Billy  Connors  didn't  up  and  throw  the  game. " 

"He's  a  hell  of  a  pitcher,"  was  George's  com- 
ment, spoken  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Halloran. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Jimmie,  "Watson'll 
never  sign  him  again,  after  a  trick  like  that. " 

Rather  an  interesting  situation  this — an  odd 
confusing  of  good  motives  with  bad — an  amusing 
symptom  of  good  feeling  in  speculator  Jimmie, 
to  be  taking  up  the  support  of  a  young  man  who 
had  been  ruined  through  his  advice.  He  would 
doubtless  get  over  it  as  he  grew  older.  If  every 
man  were  to  feel  the  same  responsibility,  what  a 
wreck  it  would  make  of  our  institutions !  What 
a  scrambling  there  would  be  in  Wall  Street,  in 
La  Salle  Street !  Incipient  socialism  this — a  bad 
thing,  very  bad ! 

Halloran  nodded  and  smiled  a  little.  "I 
know,"  he  said.  "We're  all  of  us  likely  to  fall 


GEORGE  AND  HIS  TROUBLES    51 

down  now  and  then.  I  don't  know  as  I  should 
have  done  just  that,  though.  A  man  can't  afford 
to  gamble  unless  he  can  afford  to  lose;  and  there 
aren't  many  such  men.  I'm  not  sure  there  are 
any."  He  smiled  again — he  knew  just  how 
George  felt,  just  about  what  he  was  thinking 
behind  that  clouded  face.  "  But  now  the  question 
is,  how  are  we  going  to  fix  you  up  again?  You 
can't  stay  here.  How  much  did  you  lose  ?" 

Again  it  was  Jimmie  that  answered,  ''Three 
fifty." 

Halloran  thought  for  a  moment,  doing  some 
sums  in  his  head;  then  he  took  a  purse  from  his 
pocket  and  counted  out  the  money. 

''Now,  George,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  loan.  I 
know  you're  square,  and  I'm  willing  to  take  your 
word  for  it.  There  is  no  hurry;  but  some  day, 
when  you  feel  you  can,  you  may  pay  it  back. 
We  needn't  either  of  us  say  anything  about  it." 
George's  expression  was  changing  every  moment ; 
but  he  took  the  money.  ' '  Suppose  we  go  back  to 
the  house  now,  George.  You  will  find  your 
mother  and  sister  mighty  glad  to  see  you.  And 
Miss  Davies  is  waiting  at  the  Settlement  to  hear 
about  you.  She  has  worried  a  good  deal.  Then 
Monday  we  will  see  if  we  can't  get  the  factory  to 
give  you  another  trial." 

George's  armour  was  not  proof  against  such  an 
attack  as  this.  He  got  up,  put  the  story  in  his 


52  THE  WHIP   HAND 

pocket,  and  lighted  Halloran  and  Jimmie  along 
the  passage  with  his  candle ;  then  he  snuffed  it  out 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  threw  the  bottle  into  the 
river  and  followed  the  two  others  up  the  stairway 
to  the  street. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING 

BENDING  over  a  book  sat  Halloran,  both  elbows 
on  the  table,  the  fingers  of  both  hands  run  through 
his  hair.  The  book  lay  open,  and  spread  out  on 
the  leaves  was  a  note  from  Miss  Davies;  in  part 
this  ran  as  follows: 

" .  .  .  George  is  to  have  another  trial  at  the 
box-factory.  They  seem  willing  to  be  kind  to 
him,  but  Mr.  -  -  says  emphatically  that  he 
will  not  be  taken  back  a  second  time.  But  I  have 
confidence  in  him,  and  particularly  in  your 
influence.  .  .  . 

' '  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  when  you  next  come 
up  to  the  house.  I  am  more  grateful  than  you 
know — indeed,  we  all  are — for  your  .  .  ." 

Halloran  had  made  a  discovery.  Had  he  been 
given  to  self-scrutiny  it  would  have  come  earlier; 
and  it  would  then  have  been  a  little  easier  to  face. 
But  this  way  of  thinking  would  not  help  him  now ; 
it  had  not  come  earlier,  it  was  difficult,  and  the 
question  lay  before  him:  should  he  make  that 
next  visit  to  the  house  or  not  ? 

53 


54  THE   WHIP   HAND 

He  glanced  tip  at  his  nickel  alarm-clock  and  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  go  on  watch ;  so  he  put  on  his 
sweater  and  oilskins  and  sou'wester,  blew  out  his 
lamp  and  walked  across  the  Sheridan  road  to  the 
station. 

It  was  nearly  four  years  since  he  had  taken  care 
of  the  Davies's  furnace  and  slept  in  their  barn. 
That  had  been  in  his  days  of  "  subbing"  for  a  crew 
position,  and  he  had  not  been  a  boy  even  then ; 
he  had  entered  college  at  twenty-two.  Since 
then,  thanks  to  his  salary  as  a  surfman  in  the  pay 
of  the  Treasury  Department,  he  had  got  along 
rather  better;  he  was  no  longer  the  traditional 
poor  student.  He  was  not  ashamed  of  his  strug- 
gles, nor  especially  proud  of  them ;  he  was  inclined 
to  think  that  struggling  is  not  in  itself  particu- 
larly commendable ;  that  it  is  success  that  counts. 
He  knew  that  Mrs.  Da  vies  and  her  daughter  had 
followed  his  work  with  interest,  and  he  was  grateful 
for  it.  "  Grateful ! " — there  was  the  word  that  he 
stuck  at.  For,  after  all,  had  there  not  been  from 
the  start  an  element  of  patronage  in  their  kindness 
to  him?  " Kindness  !"— another  word  that  hurt. 

Number  Six  was  "punching"  the  watchman's 
clock  that  always  hung  just  within  the  station 
door. 

"  Hallo, "  he  said  to  Halloran. 

"Hallo." 

"Wet  night." 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING        55 

"Yes,  rather." 

"  Better  keep  an  eye  on  that  light  off  the  long 
pier.  She's  running  in  pretty  close,  I  think." 

"All  right;  good-night." 

Number  Six  disappeared  in  the  dark  of  the 
road,  bound  for  bed;  and  Halloran  pulled  his 
sweater  up  around  his  neck  and  fell  to  pacing  the 
veranda.  The  surf  was  booming  on  the  beach 
below;  the  rain  was  cutting  in  toward  the  land. 
Out  beyond  the  breakers  were  lights — a  line  of 
them  along  the  horizon. 

The  time  had  come  to  look  ahead.  In  another 
six  months  his  college  course  would  be  completed ; 
his  playtime  would  be  over ;  realities  lay  beyond — 
downright  realities  that  surround  a  man,  that 
show  clear  through  him,  that  bear  him  down  and 
undftr  unless  he  be  made  of  stronger  stuff  than 
they.  Wits  were  needed,  and  judgment;  the 
determination  that  goes  against  things,  not  with 
them.  There  would  be  no  making  up  of  cuts,  out 
there  in  the  world,  no  special  examinations;  a 
man  must  look  higher  than  the  faculty  there. 
Mistakes  would  be  hard  to  rectify,  perhaps  could 
never  be  rectified,  where  a  man  was  already  nearer 
thirty  than  twenty.  He  decided  not  to  make 
that  next  call. 


BOOK  II 
PINE 


CHAPTER  I 
A  DECISION  TO  FIGHT 

THE  little  city  of  Wauchung  straggled  over 
and  between  and  almost  burrowed  under  a  chain 
of  sand-hills — shining  yellow  hills  with  tops 
entirely  bald  save  for  a  spear  of  rank  grass  here 
and  there  or  a  dwarfed  pine.  Outside  the  mouth 
of  the  river  was  Lake  Michigan ;  behind  the  little 
city  were  the  pine  forests  of  the  Lower  Peninsula. 
And  the  one  interesting  object  of  this  whole  region 
was  a  man — for  houses  and  shops  were  common- 
place, streets  were  ill-paved,  the  railroad  was 
wanting  in  energy  and  capital,  the  inhabitants 
were  mostly  leveled  down  to  the  colourless  mo- 
notony of  the  sand-frills — a  man  named  Martin 
L.  Higginson. 

There  was  one  imposing  building  of  granite  and 
red  bricks  on  the  business  street — a  glance  showed 
the  name  of  Higginson  over  the  entrance.  Two 
large  mills  stood  by  the  river,  surrounded  by  piles 
of  lumber  on  the  land,  fronted  by  rafts  of  logs  in 
the  water,  sending  out  their  droning  hum  all  day 
long  (and  frequently  all  night  long) ;  inside,  men 
were  bustling  and  pushing  in  the  effort  to  keep  up 

59 


60  THE  WHIP   HAND 

with  the  drive  of  work  outside,  the  long  runways 
were  active  with  men  and  with  moving  lumber — 
and  on  each  of  the  mills  was  the  name  Higginson. 
Two  steamers  lay  at  the  Higginson  wharves- 
lake  carriers,  both,  of  the  Higginson  line.  A  log- 
ging railroad  ran  back  some  twenty  miles  into  the 
forest;  it  ran  over  Higginson  land  to  Higginson 
land,  to  bring  what  logs  the  little  river  could  not 
bring — for  the  Higginson  property  extended  far 
to  north,  south  and  eastward.  There  was,  in  fact, 
one  rich  man  in  the  little  city-^— one  man  who  had 
done  what  he  could  to  keep  the  railroad  busy,  to 
keep  the  harbour  dredged,  to  keep  the  streets  in 
better  condition,  to  make  Wauchung  a  real  city, 
awake,  energetic,  proud — one  man  who  repre- 
sented Wauchung  to  the  outside  world:  Mr. 
Higginson. 

An  elderly  gentleman  he  was,  a  man  who  had 
passed  the  fighting  age,  who  would  have  stopped 
to  rest  any  time  these  last  six  or  eight  years  if  the 
business  had  permitted  it;  but  it  had  stood  until 
recently  that  the  one  man  in  Wauchung  who  did 
not  take  his  vacation  every  year  was  Mr.  Higgin- 
son. As  it  often  falls  out,  however,  one  of  his 
severest  misfortunes  had  brought  its  blessing. 
For  five  years  and  more  he  had  looked  for  a  man, 
for  the  man,  whom  he  could  trust  to  take  up  the 
burden  that  was  beginning  to  weigh  so  heavily; 
and  for  five  years  he  had  failed.  He  liked 


A   DECISION   TO   FIGHT  61 

young  Crosman,  the  head  clerk  in  the  office; 
but  Crosman,  though  welcome  enough  at  the 
house  as  Mamie  Higginson' s  regular  caller, 
hardly  showed  administrative  qualities — his 
limitations  were  marked.  And  so  the  search 
had  gone  on:  he  had  tried  them,  young  men 
and  middle-aged  men — and  he  had  found  that 
all  of  them  wanted  money,  and  none  of  them 
wanted  work.  And  what  he  had  to  offer  was 
work,  little  else — hard  work,  work  for  head  and 
hands,  much  thinking  of  the  business,  little  think- 
ing of  self :  the  spirit  that  would  live  for  the  busi- 
ness, that  would  take  its  pride  in  the  quality  of 
the  Higginson  work,  that  would  strive,  as  he  had 
striven,  to  make  the  name  of  Higginson  a  synonym 
for  honest  work,  work  done  on  time,  work  done  a 
little  better  than  the  contract  demanded.  Where 
could  he  find  a  man  like  this? 

And  then,  after  five  years,  through  a  shipwreck 
of  all  occurrences,  he  had  found  him.  He  knew 
him. at  once,  as  he  had  thought  he  should.  Look- 
ing down  from  the  heights  of  character  and 
accomplishments,  on  a  world  of  little  persons, 
foolish  persons,  earnest,  weak  persons,  dishonest 
persons,  pompous,  empty  persons — all  the  sorts 
that  go  to  make  up  a  man's  world,  and  nearly  all 
that  he  is  likely  to  see,  unfortunately,  from  the 
heights — looking  out  and  down  and  all  about, 
he  had  seen  a  young  man's  head  and  shoulders 


62  THE   WHIP   HAND 

climbing  up  above  the  rabble.  The  young  man 
had  not  yet  climbed  very  high ;  but  he  was  climb- 
ing, and  that  was  enough.  So  Mr.  Higginson 
had  come  to  think  more  lightly  of  the  rheumatism, 
the  failing  eyes,  the  many  signs  of  age  that  had 
been  brought  sharply  to  his  notice  by  that  shock 
and  exposure  on  the  west  coast. 

At  the  time  of  this  chapter,  Mr.  Higginson  and 
Halloran  were  seated  in  'the  office — Halloran 
before  his  desk,  Mr.  Higginson  beside  it — looking 
at  a  typewritten  letter  or  statement.  Twenty- 
four  hours  earlier  Mr.  William  H.  Babcock,  of 
G.  Hyde  Bigelow  &  Company,  had  taken  the  train 
for  Chicago,  leaving  this  document  behind  him; 
and  now  the  time  had  come  to  answer  it. 

This  was  the  culmination  of  a  long  series  of 
letters  and  interviews.  The  beginning  had  been 
when  this  same  Mr.  Babcock  had  endeavoured  to 
buy  the  Wauchung  mills  in  the  interest  of  Mr. 
Bigelow.  It  seemed  that  Mr.  Bigelow  was  about 
to  enter  the  lumber  business.  His  genius  for 
combination,  for  exploitation,  was  to  be  given 
a  new  direction.  Kentucky  Coal,  New  Freighters, 
Northwest  Chicago,  all  his  various  interests  were 
prospering,  thanks  to  the  name  of  Bigelow,  and 
now  the  lumber  business  was  to  be  vitalized,  to  be 
vivified.  Just  how  it  was  to  be  done,  or  what  was 
to  be  done,  was  not  known;  that  secret  was  kept 
close  in  the  Bigelow  office.  Each  newspaper 


A   DECISION   TO   FIGHT  63 

published  its  own  version,  to  be  believed  or  dis- 
believed at  the  discretion  of  the  reader.  All  Mr. 
Higginson  knew  was  that  the  Bigelow  firm  could 
never  buy  him  out,  that  he  had  not  spent  his  years 
in  building  up  a  business  for  the  benefit  of  Mr. 
Bigelow.  The  business  was  his  life,  and  he  meant 
to  keep  it  for  himself  and  his  family  and  his 
legitimate  successors.  So  the  first  refusal  had 
been  a  simple  matter — a  plain,  emphatic  no  had 
sufficed. 

Then  for  a  time  there  had  been  silence;  until 
one  day  Halloran  learned  that  the  Pewaukoe 
Lumber  Company,  twenty-odd  miles  up  the 
shore,  had  succumbed  to  the  blandishments  of 
the  low-voiced  Mr.  Babcock,  and  had  sold  out 
mills,  standing  timber  and  all.  It  had  not  been 
a  prosperous  company,  thanks  to  the  shiftless 
management  of  the  children  of  the  original  owner; 
but  there  was  no  reason  why  it  should  not  do  well 
in  good  hands.  There  was  no  question  now  that, 
whatever  he  meant  to  do  next,  Mr.  Bigelow  had 
a  footing  in  the  lumber  trade,  and  Halloran  had 
been  watching  him  closely. 

The  document  on  the  desk  was  a  statement  of 
the  "  understanding"  or  secret  agreement  that  was 
henceforth  to  be  law  among  the  lumber  producers 
of  Lake  Michigan.  It  had  been  presented  and 
accompanied  with  much  confidential  talk  from  Mr. 
Babcock — all  tending  to  show  that  the  lumber- 


64  THE  WHIP  HAND 

men,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Mr.  Higginson, 
were  already  united  to  forward  this  agreement, 
that  the  business  would  be  organized  as  never 
before,  that  great  economies  would  be  brought 
about  in  the  carrying  side  of  the  trade,  that 
the  strain  of  competition  would  be  avoided,  that 
prices  would  be  maintained  at  a  somewhat  higher 
figure  (a  main  point,  this)  under  penalty  of  fines, 
that — much  more  low  talk  and  friendly  disinter- 
ested confidences.  For  their  interests  were  iden- 
tical, said  Mr.  Babcock;  and  there  was  room  for 
them  all.  Efficiency  was  the  keyword — efficiency, 
productiveness,  economy,  identity  of  interests, 
good  prices.  And  lastly  there  had  been 
friendly,  almost  deferential  intimations  that 
G.  Hyde  Bigelow  &  Company  held  the 
key  to  the  situation,  that  the  combination 
was  already  a  fact,  and  that  a  firm  which 
might  decide  to  stay  out  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. 

Simplified,  the  whole  matter  came  to  this: 
Within  the  combination,  prosperity  in  plenty, 
but  always  subject  to  the  guiding  judgment  of 
G.  Hyde  Bigelow,  hence  a  certain  loss  of  identity 
and  of  control  to  self-respecting  heads  of  com- 
panies; without  the  combination,  a  fight  to  a 
finish  against  the  combined  power  and  momen- 
tum of  Bigelow  &  Company  and  the  "Lumber 
Trust."  Just  how  great  was  this  momentum 


A  DECISION  TO   FIGHT  65 

no  one  exactly  knew:  but  Bigelow  was  a  magic 
name,  no  doubt  of  it. 

"You  have  gone  over  it,  have  you,  Mr.  Hal- 
loran?"  said  Mr.  Higginson. 

His  voice  was  disturbed  and  his  expression 
showed  worry  and  trouble.  For  a  year  Mr. 
Higginson  had  been  changing,  very  slightly  but 
none  the  less  perceptibly  to  one  as  close  to  him, 
day  after  day,  as  Halloran  was.  Until  he  had 
assured  himself  that  his  assistant  was  able  to  take 
up  the  burden,  he  had  kept  up;  but  after  that 
moment  he  had  seemed,  in  a  measure,  to  let  go. 
On  routine  matters  he  was  as  strong  as  ever, 
but  his  mind  refused  to  work  automatically 
through  new  problems;  thsre  were  sometimes 
gaps  in  his  reasoning  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
bridge  over,  and  this  worried  him.  So  it  had 
come  about  that  a  tacit  agreement  existed 
between  the  older  man  and  the  younger,  that  in 
questions  where  vigour  was  needed,  of  body  or 
mind,  the  younger  man  should  take  the  lead; 
and  Mr.  Higginson  mildly  deceived  himself 
by  giving  more  attention  than  formerly  to 
routine  matters  and  trivial  details.  It  was 
Halloran,  therefore,  who  had  spent  the  better 
part  of  a  night  thinking  out  this  question, 
whether  to  yield  or  fight.  And  it  was 
Mr.  Higginson,  naturally  enough,  who  had  put 
the  question : 


66  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"You  have  gone  over  it,  have  you,  Mr.  Hal- 
loran?" 

"Yes.  The  Bigelow  part  of  it  is  what  I  like 
least.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  just  the  man  you 
would  want  to  stand  responsible  for  this  business, 
and  therefore  he  certainly  is  not  the  man  to  take 
charge  of  all  the  companies  together — and  that 
is  pretty  nearly  what  this  paper  means. " 

"Why  do  you  think  that?" 

"Well,  he  isn't  solid.  He's  been  lucky,  and 
just  now  he's  on  the  top  of  the  wave.  But  his 
interests  and  investments  are  spread  out  so  wide 
that  a  run  of  bad  luck  might  upset  him.  I  don't 
know  that  it  would,  but  it  might.  And  then  I 
have  seen  a  little  of  -him. " 

"  You  know  him  personally  ? " 

"Yes.  I  cut  his  grass  for  two  summers  in 
Evanston,  and  did  odd  jobs  for  him. " 

Mr.  Higginson  pondered,  and  Halloran  went  on : 
"On  the  other  hand,  his  resources  are  large,  and 
if  we  decide  to  stand  out  it  may  mean  a  long,  hard 
fight.  It  might  be  harder  than  we  think. " 

Mr.  Higginson  was  still  thinking  hard,  forcing 
his  mind  to  take  up  one  phase  of  the  question  after 
another ;  and  the  worried  expression,  so  frequently 
on  his  face  nowadays,  was  more  noticeable  than 
ever.  Finally  he  said: 

"Then  you  are  in  favour  of  declining  to  join 
the  combination?" 


A  DECISION  TO  FIGHT  67 

This  was  the  direct  question  that  Halloran 
had  partly  foreseen.  He  hesitated,  marking  at 
random  with  a  pencil  while  his  thoughts  came 
fast.  At  this  moment  he  saw  more  clearly  than 
he  had  seen  at  any  time  during  the  night  what  a 
refusal  would  mean.  Wealthy  as  Mr.  Higginson 
was,  his  wealth  lay  in  the  lumber  lands,  the  logging 
railroad,  in  the  mills  and  the  steamers,  and  in 
Wauchung  property ;  to  a  certain  extent  the  whole 
town  of  Wauchung  had  grown  up  around  Mr. 
Higginson  and  was  directly  or  indirectly  depen- 
dent upon  him;  and  all  these  interests,  hanging 
as  they  did  on  the  lumber  business,  must  suffer 
when  this  business  was  attacked.  But  he  caught 
himself — if  he  ran  on  into  this  way  of  thinking  he 
was  lost. 

"Yes,"  he  replied;  "I  think  we  had  better 
decline." 

Mr.  Higginson  arose. 

"I  will  leave  the  letter  to  you,"  he  said;  and 
then  went  out  with  a  face  that  seemed  to  express 
downright  dread.  Honest  old  gentleman,  he  had 
thought  to  take  a  rest ;  and  instead  he  found  him- 
self facing  the  hardest  fight  of  his  career. 

Halloran  took  up  his  pen  and  made  the  attitude 
of  Higginson  &  Company  plain  in  three  lines. 


CHAPTER  II 
/ 

UNDER  WAY 

IN  the  parlour  of  the  Higginson  home,  one 
evening  shortly  after  the  incident  of  the  last 
chapter,  sat  Mrs.  Higginson  and  her  daughter, 
with  expressions  hardly  significant  of  an  intense 
joy  in  life.  In  the  library,  talking  earnestly 
behind  closed  doors,  were  Mr.  Higginson  and 
Halloran. 

"Well,  Mr.  Halloran,  what  is  it?"  had  begun 
the  head  of  the  firm. 

"The  fight  is  on.  I  got  the  first  word  of  it 
to-day." 

Mr.  Higginson  bowed  slightly  and  waited. 

"  Bigelow  has  cut  the  price  down  below  cost. " 

It  took  a  moment  for  the  older  man  to  grasp 
the  meaning  of  this. 

"Below  cost?"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes ;  it's  going  to  be  a  question  of  endurance. " 

"But  we  have  some  large  orders  on  hand. 
They  will  keep  us  busy  for  awhile.  How  does 
the  Carroll  &  Condit  lumber  stand?" 

"It's  about  half  cut  out." 

"  You  can  go  ahead  with  it,  then,  for  this  week 
68 


UNDER  WAY  69 

And  after  that  the  Michigan  City  contract  will 
keep  us  busy  for  awhile." 

"The  Carroll  &  Condit  business  is  what 
brought  me  here  to-night.  Here  is  a  letter  from 
them."  Halloran  laid  it  on  the  table.  "They 
offer  us  a  chance  to  meet  the  new  price  before 
they  place  their  order  elsewhere." 

Gradually  the  meaning  of  Halloran' s  words  had 
been  sinking  into  Mr.  Higginson's  mind;  the  rela- 
tions of  cause  and  effect  had  been  clearing  before 
him.  He  looked  the  letter  over  silently,  twice, 
three  times. 

"I — I  can  hardly  believe  this —  He  saw 

that  this  was  useless  talk  and  he  stopped.  It  had 
been  a  verbal  order  from  Carroll,  a  man  whom  he 
had  reason  to  hold  as  the  soul  of  honour ;  the  price 
had  been  stated  and  agreed  to,  precisely  as  for 
twenty  years  back;  everything  had  been  satis- 
factory. Good  Mr.  Higginson  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  delusion.  After  half  a  century  of  struggle  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  believe  that  the  fight  was 
about  over,  that  his  personal  achievement  meant 
something;  that  he  could  stand  securely  on  the 
heights.  He  had  forgotten  that  Business  is 
Business,  that  Time  is  Money  and  Money  Talks; 
he  had  forgotten  that  the  glorious  old  world  was 
spinning  along,  as  heedless  as  ever,  after  the  ever- 
receding  glitter,  and  that  there  could  be  no  stop- 
ping until  the  last  great  stop  should  be  reached. 


70  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"From  what  I  can  gather,"  said  Halloran, 
"they  mean  to  fight  us  all  along  the  line.  The 
Michigan  City  contract,  I  think,  is  good.  We 
have  it  down  in  black  and  white,  and  we  can  make 
the  delivery  in  our  own  steamers;  but  we  should 
have  to  use  the  railroads  for  most  of  our  other 
orders,  and  I'm  afraid  we  can't  do  it. "  He  dis- 
liked this  hammering  one  trouble  after  another 
into  the  old  gentleman's  aching  head,  but  it  had 
to  be  done.  "I'm  quite  sure  that  Bigelow  has 
influence  with  the  railroads,  and  of  course  he  will 
use  it." 

Mr.  Higginson  was  thinking — thinking. 

"How  much— "he  was  still  thinking,  desper- 
ately raking  his  facts  together  and  facing  what 
seemed  like  chaos — "how  much  is  this  going 
to  cost  us,  Mr.  Halloran?" 

Halloran  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  too  early  to  tell.  He  must  show  his  hand 
before  we  can  plan  our  game.  He's  beginning 
now,  and  before  he  gets  through,  by  -  — ,  we'll 
smash  him.  We'll  make  him  feel  like  a  whipped 
coach-dog  every  time  he  passes  a  lumber  pile." 
Halloran  was  getting  so  excited  he  had  to  get  up 
and  pace  the  carpet.  "I  know  the  man;  I  know 
his  meanness  and  his  vanity.  I've  worked  for 
him,  and  I  ve  seen  him  off  his  guard,  and  I  know 
his  insolence.  Before  we  get  through  with  him 
he'll  wish  he  had  gone  into  a  bucket-shop,  where 


UNDER  WAY  71 

he  belongs,  and  stayed  there,  the  damned  old 
bloated  frog  of  a  tin-horn  gambler.  Let  him 
wreck  his  Kentucky  Coal  and  his  New  Freighters 
all  he  pleases,  but  he'll  get  a  bellyful  if  he  tries  to 
wreck  the  lumber  business." 

He  stopped  short,  looked  around  at  the  dark, 
olive-tinted  walls,  at  the  stately  row  of  books  in 
their  morocco  and  calf  and  yellow  and  red  and 
gold;  looked  at  the  rich  carpet  and  the  restful 
chairs  and  at  the  soft  light  of  the  polished 
student-lamp;  looked  last  at  Mr.  Higginson — and 
felt  a  cold  sweat  breaking  out  all  over  his  body. 
What  had  he  said  ? 

Somewhere  in  Halloran's  make-up,  deep-hidden 
beneath  the  laborious  years  of  work  and  study, 
lay  a  well,  a  spouting,  roaring  geyser  of  profanity. 
It  had  come  into  the  world  with  him ;  it  had  been 
richly  fed  during  his  rough,  knockabout  boyhood ; 
and  now,  in  spite  of  the  weights  he  had  put  on  it, 
a  year  or  two  of  Michigan  lumberjnen  had  been 
enough  to  prime  it. 

Mr.  Higginson  was  still  thinking — thinking. 
The  facts  were  before  him  now;  at  last  he 
had  penetrated  to  them  and  brought  them 
together.  And  he  was  facing  them — meeting 
them  squarely  without  flinching.  Quietly  he  sat, 
one  elbow  on  the  green-topped  table,  his  hand 
shading  his  eyes;  and  the  lamplight  fell  gently 
on  his  head.  He  was  facing  the  question  of 


72  THE   WHIP   HAND 

himself,  of  his  ability  to  conduct  his  own  business ; 
and  another  question,  granting  that  he  was  unable, 
whether  he  could,  in  his  best  judgment,  place 
everything  he  had  in  the  world — his  business, 
his  family,  himself — in  the  hands  of  this  man  and 
bid  him  Godspeed  in  his  work.  So  he  sat  think- 
ing— thinking ;  and  Halloran,  a  little  abashed,  but 
angry  still,  dropped  into  a  chair  and  waited.  At 
last  the  old  gentleman  spoke — in  a  low,  changed 
voice. 

" Mr.  Halloran,  I  have  not  been  well  lately;  and 
I  think  it  best — to  tell  you  that — for  the  present 
the  business  is  in  your  hands.  I  will  stay  here 
and  advise  with  you,  but — I  do  not  wish  you  to 
feel  hampered  by  my  presence  in  carrying  on  this 
fight.  I  am  laying  a  heavy  responsibility  on  you 
— but  I  think — I  trust  you  will  be  equal  to  it. " 

Mr.  Higginson's  part  of  the  fight  was  over;  and 
he  had  won. 

Mrs.  Higginson  was  playing  clock  at  the  centre- 
table.  She  was  a  wiry  little  woman,  capable  of 
great  exertion  and  showing  remarkable  endurance 
when  set  on  some  purpose,  such  as  a  shopping 
trip  to  Chicago ;  but  suffering  at  other  times  from 
languor  and  low  spirits,  and  in  constant  need  of 
medical  attendance. 

She  had  never  been  able  to  understand  why 
"Mr.  H. "  should  insist  on  burying  himself  in  the 
lumber  business,  when  he  was  plenty  rich  enough 


UNDER  WAY  73 

to  sell  out  and  take  her  and  her  daughter  forth 
from  the  slumberous  quiet  of  Wauchung  into  the 
stir  of  the  world.  Such  stupidity,  such  meanness 
of  ideals  (to  pass  over  the  injustice  to  herself — 
she  was  nothing;  she  didn't  count)  was  out  of  her 
ken.  And  in  the  second  place,  her  heart  had  been 
set  for  three  seasons  on  a  trip  to  Hot  Springs; 
and  even  if  Mr.  H.'s  plainness  of  character  were 
to  hold  his  interests  in  Wauchung  in  spite  of  her 
known  desires,  he  certainly  owed  it  to  her  to  give 
her  an  outing  for  a  few  months.  She  had  borne  a 
great  deal  for  him — but  never  mind.  Doctor 
Brown  would  sympathize  with  her,  anyway— 
would  bring  her  medicine  every  day  if  she  were 
but  so  much  as  to  drop  a  hint. 

Mamie  had  been  trying  to  read  a  novel;  but 
being  herself  the  meek  centre  of  a  tremendous 
little  drama,  she  found  it  difficult  to  focus  her 
attention. 

"Ma,"  she  said,  after  a  time,  " don't  you  think 
pa  looks  a  little  run  down  ? "  This  was  a  euphem- 
ism; there  was  no  question  that  Mr.  Higginson 
was  looking  very  bad  indeed. 

"A  little,  perhaps,"  replied  her  mother.  At 
that  moment,  the  three -o'clock  pile  being  prema- 
turely completed,  she  gave  up  "Clock"  in  disgust 
and  shuffled  her  cards  for  the  thirteen  game. 

Presently  she  said,  "My  head  has  ached  hard 
all  day."  * 


74  THE  WHIP   HAND 

This  was  encouraging.  Mamie  took  up  her 
book  again;  but  not  for  long. 

''Do  you  suppose  he  is  worrying  about  the 
business,  ma  ?  He  and  Mr.  Halloran  are  working 
almost  every  night  now." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Mrs.  Higginson  replied.  "It 
would  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had  taken 
my  advice  five  years  ago  and  retired.  Your 
father  has  no  time  to  think  of  us,  my  dear. " 

Mamie  felt  some  injustice  in  this  and  would 
have  dropped  the  subject  had  not  her  mother, 
roused  to  it,  pushed  on. 

"He  says  himself  that  Mr.  Halloran  has  shown 
himself  able  to  run  the  business,  and  yet  he  will 
not  go  away  even  for  a  week.  I  think  if  we  could 
only  get  him  off  for  a  short  time  he  would  want 
to  stay,  once  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  it." 
At  this  moment  the  library  door  opened  and  the 
two  men  could  be  heard  in  the  hall.  Mrs.  Higgin- 
son's  face  brightened.  "Play  something  for  me, 
my  dear,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no,  ma.     They  are  just  coming  in  here. " 

"Who?  Are  they?  Play  the  march  Mr.  Hal- 
loran likes  so  much." 

Mamie  went  obediently  to  the  piano  and  was 
crashing  out  the  opening  chords  when  the  two 
men  reached  the  parlour  door.  Mrs.  Higginson 
rose  and  extended  her  hand  with  a  bright  smile. 
Mamie  showed  signs  of  stopping,  but  Halloran 


UNDER  WAY  75 

nodded  to  her  to  go  on,  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 
Mrs.  Higginson  came  over  and  sat  down  by  him, 
leaving  her  cards  in  disorder  on  the  table. 

"  I  had  just  asked  Mamie  to  play  for  me  before 
you  came  in,"  she  said,  pitching  her  voice  some- 
what above  the  noise  of  the  march.  "I  always 
like  to  hear  her  play  when  I  have  one  of  my  head- 
aches. It  seems  to  make  me  forget  myself  for  a 
little  while.  And  I  really  think  she  plays  very 
well." 

Yes ;  Halloran  thought  so,  too. 

"I  am  not  one  of  your  cultivated  musicians, 
but  I  know  what  I  like.  And  that  is  all  anybody 
can  know,  I  guess.  Only  most  people  aren't 
honest  enough  to  say  so.  I  have  had  a  severe- 
headache  all  day.  It  was  in  the  back  of  my  head, 
just  where  I  had  one  last  Thursday;  and  if  I 
hadn't  happened  to  have  some  of  the  pills  left 
over  that  Doctor  Brown  brought  for  me  the  last 
time,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done. 
One  does  hate  so  to  give  up.  I  have  always  said 
to  my  husband:  'No,  Mr.  H.,  I  will  not  give  up; 
I  will  not  go  to  bed  and  acknowledge  myself  an 
invalid.  Thank  goodness  I  have  pride  enough 
left  for  that."  Here  the  doorbell  claimed  her 
attention  for  a  moment.  "Well,  here  is  Harry 
Crosman.  He  is  such  a  good  boy,  we  are  all  so 
fond  of  him.  And  then  for  a  long  time" — very 
confidentially,  this — "he  was  really  almost  the 


76  THE  WHIP  HAND 

only  company  there  was  for  Mamie,  and  we  were 
glad  to  have  him  drop  around  on  her  account. 
The  people  in  Wauchung  are  so — so — well,  I'm 
sure  you  understand.  It  was  pleasant  for  the 
dear  girl.  I  don't  suppose  he  is  ever  going  to 
astonish  the  world,  but  we  are  always  glad  to  see 
him.  Good-evening,  Harry." 

At  this  greeting  the  newcomer  took  a  chair,  and 
found  himself  just  in  time  to  hear  Mrs.  Higgin- 
son,  keyed  up  to  extra  exertions  by  the  music  and 
the  company,  bring  all  her  artillery  to  bear  on 
her  husband. 

"Now,  Mr.  Halloran,  I'm  just  going  to  appeal 
to  you  if  Mr.  H.  isn't  working  too  hard.  Don't 
you  think  it  is  time  he  took  a  little  vacation 

She  stopped  short,  for  the  long-suffering  Mr.  H. 
had  turned  on  her  with  downright  impatience. 

"Don't  let  me  hear  any  more  of  that  talk," 
he  said  sharply ;  then,  almost  before  the  last  word 
was  out  of  his  mouth,  he  abruptly  excused  himself 
and  left  the  room. 

He  left  silence  behind  him,  and  some  little  con- 
sternation; and  Halloran,  seeing  on  Mrs.  Higgin- 
son's  face  the  signs  of  a  storm,  excused  himself, 
too,  leaving  Crosman  to  weather  it  as  best  he 
might. 


CHAPTER  III 
TIGHTENING  THE  BLOCKADE 

MR.  BAB  COCK  had  come  in  early  this  morning, 
depositing  a  small  traveling-bag  behind  the  door 
of  his  office,  and  then  looking  at  his  watch  to  see 
if  Mr.  Bigelow  were  not  about  due.  Somewhat 
travel-stained  was  Mr.  Babcock,  as  a  glance  at 
the  mirror  told  him;  and  there  was  time  to  wash 
and  change  his  linen  before  his  senior  should 
arrive. 

Shortly  entered  Mr.  Bigelow,  pausing  within 
the  threshold. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Babcock.  Did  you  find 
Michigan  City  still  on  the  map?" 

Mr.  Babcock,  giving  a  last  flick  at  his  coat- 
collar  before  the  mirror,  turned,  listened,  and 
laughed  at  his  senior's  little  jest.  The  sten- 
ographer, sitting  in  her  corner  by  the  window, 
smiled  and  giggled.  Young  men  at  desks  in  the 
outer  office  snickered  and  chuckled  over  their 
books.  The  round-eyed  office-boy  tee-heed  out- 
right, and  then,  covered  with  fright  and  confusion, 
disappeared  behind  the  water-cooler  as  the  head 
of  the  firm  passed  on  to  the  inner  office, 

77 


78  THE  WHIP   HAND 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Babcock  with  a  traveling- 
bag  was,  it  seemed,  to  be  considered  important; 
more  important  even  than  the  heap  of  letters 
that  lay  ready  opened  on  the  mahogany  desk. 
For  now  Mr.  Babcock  had  been  summoned,  the 
stenographer  had  been  dismissed  to  some  work 
in  the  outer  office,  and  Mr.  Bigelow,  closely  atten- 
tive, and  Mr.  Babcock,  with  much  to  communi- 
cate in  that  low  voice  of  his,  were  settling  down  to 
consider  a  problem. 

"The  price  appealed  to  them,"  Mr.  Babcock 
was  saying,  "but  they  are  afraid  of  Higginson. 
They  admit  it.  Higginson,  they  say,  has  their 
written  order  to  cut  out  the  timber  at  the  old 
price.  Higginson,  on  his  part,  has  agreed  to 
deliver  the  entire  bill,  two  hundred  thousand  feet 
or  more,  at  the  wharf  at  Michigan  City,  by  the 
fourteenth  of  this  month." 

Mr.  Bigelow' s  eyes  .strayed  to  his  desk 
calendar. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mr.  Babcock,  "to-day's  the 
eleventh.  That  gives  us  three  days  to  stop  it  in. " 

At  this  point  there  was  an  interruption.  As 
had  happened  once  before  when  these  two  gentle- 
men were  talking,  the  door  opened  and  the  small 
office-boy  appeared,  catching  his  breath  hurriedly 
before  getting  out  the  words : 

"Lady  t'  see  y'u,  sir." 

A    decisive    utterance    was    hanging    on    Mr. 


TIGHTENING  THE  BLOCKADE         79 

Bigelow's  lips;  a  hand  was  raised  to  make 
it  more  emphatic,  but  the  lips  closed  and  the 
hand  fell. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Babcock?" 

"Certainly." 

"I  shall  be  engaged  only  a  moment." 

The  discreet  Mr.  Babcock  withdrew,  and  the 
head  of  the  firm,  with  a  glance  at  the  heap  of 
letters  still  untouched,  turned,  without  rising, 
toward  the  door.  There  was  a  curious  expression 
on  his  face,  the  expression  of  a  man  who 'feels 
himself  at  last  in  a  position  to  cut  knots,  who 
knows  that  he  commands  the  situation.  A  person 
who  might  choose  to  break  in  on  such  a  weighty 
conference  this  morning  need  not  be  surprised  at 
summary  treatment.  And  as  the  woman  entered 
and  softly  closed  the  door  he  leaned  a  little  for- 
ward and  drew  his  brows  together,  his  whole 
appearance  saying  plainly:  "My  time  is  short, 
madam.  Speak  to  the  point. " 

The  woman  faltered  and  waited  for  his  question. 
He  said  not  a  word.  She  started  to  speak,  but 
seemed  unable  to  break  through  this  heavy  silence. 
He  waited,  his  brows  coming  down  more  and 
more.  And  at  last,  when  the  words  did  pass  her 
lips,  they  were  not  at  all  what  she  had  meant  to 
say. 

"I  have  tried  not  to  come  to  you  again.  God 
knows  how  it  hurts  me.  But  I  had  to  come.  I 


8o  THE  WHIP   HAND 

was  turned  out  of  the  New  York  Store  ten  days 
ago,  without  warning." 

Once  started,  she  was  finding  it  a  little  easier 
to  go  on ;  but  Mr.  Bigelow,  carrying  the  weight  of 
millions  on  his  shoulders,  dealing  hourly  with 
questions  of  importance,  greater  or  less,  to  the 
whole  commercial  world,  had  no  time  now — kind 
as  he  may  have  been  in  the  more  leisurely  past — 
to  waste  on  trivial  matters.  He  had  given  the 
woman  a  chance ;  was  he  to  blame  for  her  failure  ? 
Did  not  potential  success  exist  within  every 
human  being?  Was  any  man  to  blame  for  the 
shipwreck  of  another? 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that, "  he  cut  in  shortly 
and  finally.  "  There  is  no  use  in  bringing  your 
story  here." 

She  quailed  before  him.  "  But  I  have  a  right — 
the  law " 

"The  law  is  yours  to  use.  If  you  think  it  will 
help  you,  use  it. "  He  rose,  opened  the  door,  and 
bowed  her  out.  And  she,  baffled,  humiliated,  at 
the  end  of  her  resources,  went  out  without  a  word, 
crossed  the  hall  as  steadily  as  any  young  sten- 
ographer, stepped  into  the  elevator  with  a 
composed  face,  and  out  into  the  street — and 
all  this  while  there  was  nothing  to  mark  her 
out  from  a  thousand  other  ill-dressed  women; 
nothing  to  show  that  her  hopes  were  gone; 
simply  a  plain  woman  on  La  Salle  Street,  quietly 


TIGHTENING  THE  BLOCKADE        81 

walking — where?  Where  could  she  walk  now? 
Were  there  still  depths  to  sound,  or  had  she 
reached  the  "bottom? 

"Mr.  Babcock!" 

The  junior  partner  came  out  from  his  own 
private  office  at  the  sound  of  his  senior's  voice. 

"You  were  saying,"  said  Mr.  Bigelow,  taking 
up  the  thread  where  they  had  laid  it  down,  "that 
Higginson  &  Company  have  agreed  to  deliver 
the  timber  by  the  fourteenth.  Now,  of  course,  a 
blockade,  to  be  effective,  must  be  complete." 

This  was  self-evident  to  Mr.  Babcock. 

"And  so  long  as  these  people  are  free  to  deliver 
lumber  the  blockade  is  not  complete.  What  is 
your  plan  regarding  this?" 

"The  Michigan  City  people,  as  I  said,  are  afraid 
of  Higginson.  But  they  will  accept  our  price  the 
minute  we  can  show  them  that  they're  safe  in 
doing  it.  They  received  a  letter  from  Higginson' s 
manager  yesterday  stating  that  the  Higginson 
steamer,  with  the  timber,  will  reach  Michigan 
City  on  the  night  of  the  thirteenth  or  the  morning 
of  the  fourteenth.  That  means  that  it  will  be 
ready  for  loading  on  the  twelfth — to-morrow — 
and  that  the  steamer  will  start  the  morning  of 
the  thirteenth.  Now,  it's  not  hard  to  imagine  a 
delay  that  would  keep  the  Higginson  manager 
from  getting  the  boat  off  in  time.  And  if  he  fails 
to  deliver,  we  are  promised  the  order. " 


82  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  do  this  ? " 

Mr.  Babcock  glanced  around  in  that  cautious 
way  of  his,  leaned  forward,  and  buzzed  along 
rapidly  for  a  few  moments,  his  eyes  keen  with 
eagerness.  The  senior  partner  listened  closely 
and  slowly  nodded,  to  show  that  he  understood. 
Even  Mr.  Bigelow,  as  we  have  seen,  was  not 
wholly  free  from  annoyance.  Head  of  the 
Lumber  Trust  was  Mr.  Bigelow,  but  not,  unfortu- 
nately, sole  owner  of  the  Lumber  Trust.  Fighting 
is  expensive;  and  voting  heads  of  constituent 
companies  are  sometimes  unreasonable  about 
expenses.  Mr.  Bigelow  was  skilful  and  resource- 
ful; he  knew  well  how  to  paint  rainbows  that 
should  dazzle  even  the  hard-headed,  hard-fisted 
old  lumbermen  of  Michigan;  he  understood  how 
to  make  it  plain  that  money  spent  in  defeating 
Higginson  would  come  back  threefold  when  the 
defeat  was  over,  and  the  price  up  where  it  should 
be,  and  the  "economies"  of  the  trust  in  working 
order;  he  was  shrewd,  and  he  knew  that  the 
sooner  Higginson  could  be  run  out  of  business 
the  better  it  would  be  for  him  (to  say  nothing  of 
the  trust  and  its  directors) .  And  so  it  was  indeed 
important  that  the  blockade  should  be  made 
effective.  The  railroads  were  practically  closed 
to  Higginson  now,  his  customers  were  to  be  had 
for  the  buying,  but  the  steamers  of  the  Higginson 
line  were  still  afloat  and  ready  to  deliver  Higginson 


TIGHTENING  THE  BLOCKADE        83 

lumber  at  contract  prices.  The  Michigan  City 
contract  was  not  a  matter  of  money ;  there  was  a 
principle  at  stake.  Higginson  must  not  deliver 
that  lumber  on  the  fourteenth ! 

"Very  good,"  he  said,  nodding  again.  "Have 
you  the  right  man  for  this  work?" 

Buzz — buzz — from  Mr.  Babcock.  More  words 
from  Mr.  Bigelow. 

"  You  will  have  to  move  quickly. " 

"Yes,  I  am  off  now,"  and  the  junior  partner 
headed  for  the  traveling-bag,  feeling  in  his  pocket 
for  a  time-table. 


CHAPTER  IV 
MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE 

THE  thirteenth  was  a  storm-centre  at  Wau- 
chung.  At  six  in  the  morning,  while  Mr.  William 
H.  Babcock  was  sleeping  peacefully  in  a  Grand 
Rapids  hotel,  dreaming  sweet  dreams  and  smiling 
childlike  smiles,  conscious  even  in  slumberland 
that  his  work  was  accomplished ;  while  the  Martin 
L.  Higginson  No.  i  was  lying  at  the  Higginson 
wharves  with  two  hundred  and  fifteen  thousand 
feet  of  lumber  aboard,  Halloran  was  up  and 
tumbling  into  his  clothes.  Captain  Craig,  master 
of  the  Higginson  No.  j,  was  sitting  grimly  on  the 
corner  of  the  bed. 

"  Do  you  know  the  man  ?"  Halloran  was  asking. 

"No." 

"  Did  he  say  whom  he  was  acting  for?" 

The  Captain  shook  his  head. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  No.  i.  should  be  leaving 
the  harbour;  but  here  was  her  master  sitting  on 
Halloran' s  bed,  his  seamed  old  face  set  hard  with 
the  thoughts  that  were  boiling  behind  it.  Down 
by  the  mills,  where  the  first  early  risers  were 
lounging  in,  where  the  lumber  piles  stretching 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     85 

far  along  the  wharves  were  glistening  yellow 
under  the  light  of  the  new  sun,  all  was  quiet  even 
to  the  steamer,  whose  stoke-room  was  cold,  whose 
boilers  were  giving  out  no  sounds  of  preparation 
for  the  twelve-hour  journey.  Over  at  Grand 
Rapids  Mr.  Babcock  was  still  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
the  just,  dreaming  once  more  that  his  man  had 
come  in  by  a  late  train  to  report  that  all  was  well 
at  Wauchung.  And  still  Halloran  was  jerking 
himself  into  his  clothes,  pulling  on  his  old  purple 
sweater  rather  than  waste  time  over  collar  and  tie. 

"All  right,"  he  said;  "I'm  ready."  Then  he 
paused.  The  next  move  was  not  to  be  settled 
offhand.  "You  went  around  to  Billy's  house, 
Captain?" 

"Yes;  I've  just  come  from  there.  The  way 
that  fellow  talked  bothered  me  so  last  night  that 
I  couldn't  sleep  much.  I  got  to  thinking  it  over 
after  I'd  gone  to  bed,  and  it  struck  me  that  if  he 
wanted  to  cripple  the  line  he'd  hardly  stop  at  me. 
He'd  go  for  Billy  sure,  for  a  good  engineer 
isn't  an  easy  man  to  replace.  And  they  tell  me 
Billy  hasn't  been  seen  at  his  boarding-house 
since  noon  yesterday. ' ' 

Very  true,  Captain  Craig !  A  good  suggestion 
just  now  when  Halloran  is  still  shaking  the  sleep 
from  his  eyes  and  trying  to  get  these  amazing 
facts  in  hand,  and  to  relate  them  with  certain 
suspicions  that  rose  at  the  first  word.  It  will 


86  THE   WHIP   HAND 

probably  occur  to  Halloran,  when  once  he  shall 
get  facts,  suspicions  and  all  firmly  gripped  in  his 
mind,  that  heads  of  trusts  do  not  fight  haphazard ; 
that  if  certain  deliveries  of  timber  are  to  be  pre- 
vented heads  of  trusts  are  not  accustomed  to 
move  in  vain.  It  is  Mr.  Bigelow's  habit  to  arrive 
at  results:  no  getting  off  at  way-stations  for 
G.  Hyde  Bigelow;  and  obstinate  persons  who 
venture  on  open  warfare  with  the  Great  must 
shake  the  sleep  out  very  early  in  the  morning  if 
they  hope  to  reach  even  a  way-station  along  the 
Bigelow  line.  Steamers  cannot  be  run  without 
engineers:  engineers  cannot  be  had  for  the  whis- 
tling in  far-away  Michigan  ports  with  but  forty 
hours  of  grace — forty  valuable  hours  not  a  whit 
longer  than  other  everyday  hours ;  even  shorter- 
hours  that  were  diminishing,  were  growing  more 
valuable,  would  soon  be  precious. 

" How  much  did  this  man  offer  you?"  Halloran 
asked. 

"Five  hundred  a  year  more  salary  and  a  bonus 
of  five  hundred  extra,  cash  down. " 

"  Did  he  show  the  money  ? " 

4 'He  had  a  big  roll." 

"Meant  business,  didn't  he?"  said  Halloran 
dryly.  "First  thing  we  do,  we'd  better  go  down 
and  see  if  we  have  anybody  left.  Then  we  can 
talk  better." 

So  they  went  down  to  the  wharves,  where  they 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     87 

found  a  few  wandering  deckhands  by  the  silent 
steamer.  Evidently  deckhands  were  not  impor- 
tant to  trusts. 

"  I  guess  Billy  took  the  bait, "  Halloran  observed. 
"  He  is  never  as  late  as  this,  is  he  ?" 

The  Captain  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do  next, 
Captain.  We've  got  to  get  her  down  to  Michigan 
City  before  to-morrow  night  whether  the  Trust 
likes  it  or  not.  Do  you  suppose  they've  gobbled 
up  the  tug  men,  too?" 

It  was  not  a  hard  fact  to  discover,  for  there 
were  only  two  tugs  in  the  harbour;  and  sure 
enough,  when,  twenty  minutes  later,  the  manager 
for  Higginson  &  Company  and  the  Captain  of  the 
No.  i  met  again  on  the  wharf,  they  were  both 
beginning  to  understand  how  clean  a  sweep  the 
Trust  people  had  made  of  it.  The  Captain  was 
growing  angrier  every  minute,  and  so  was  Hal- 
loran. The  rascality  of  it  was  what  aroused  the 
Captain.  Waters  and  winds  he  could  understand, 
but  the  ways  of  men  were  beyond  him.  Two 
days  before,  in  Chicago,  Mr.  G.  Hyde  Bigelow  had 
announced  that  Higginson  &  Company  must  not 
make  the  delivery  at  Michigan  City;  and  this 
resulting  moment,  with  Halloran  sitting  on  the 
iron  cap  of  a  snubbing-post  and  the  Captain 
standing  silent  before  him,  was  a  very  dark 
moment  for  the  Wauchung  interests. 


88  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"The  damned  old  rascal,"  said  Halloran, 
reflectively. 

Craig's  dull  eye  suddenly  flashed. 

"I  ought  to  have  foreseen  it,"  he  burst  out. 
"It's  the  kind  of  thing  to  expect  from  that 
Bigelow." 

"Yes,"  replied  Halloran;  "that's  what  I've 
been  saying  to  myself.  This  is  a  pretty  fair 
sample  of  Bigelow' s  methods. ' '  He  was  chagrined 
to  think  that  it  could  be  done  so  easily.  He  had 
thought  of  anything,  everything,  but  this. 

"I'd  like  to  set  Bigelow's  head  on  that  pile  of 
two-by-fours,"  Halloran  went  on,  "and  have 
about  three  shots  at  him.  I  don't  believe  he'd  know 
himself  the  next  time  he  looked  in  the  glass." 

The  Captain  glanced  at  him  mistrustfully.  He 
liked  this  manager,  but  this  was  not  the  time 
for  jokes. 

"Did  you  ever  see  him?"  asked  Halloran, 
swinging  a  leg  on  each  side  of  the  snubbing-post 
and  letting  a  twinkle  come  into  his  eyes  as  his 
thoughts  seemed  to  run  on  Bigelow. 

The  Captain  sighed  an  impatient  negative. 

"He's  a  big,  vain  man.  You  ought  to  see  him 
come  into  church  Sunday  mornings  and  swell 
down  the  aisle,  with  his  wife  and  children  trotting 
after  him.  He's  proud  of  being  thought  the  big 
financial  man  in  the  church;  and  whenever  they'll 
let  him  he  gets  up  after  the  sermon  and  makes  a 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     89 

speech  about  the  church  debts.  Great  temperance 
man,  too — likes  to  preside  at  prohibition  meetings 
and  plead  for  the  sanctity  of  the  home. " 

Captain  Craig  was  scowling.  Every  moment 
the  situation  was  growing  more  serious;  and  here 
was  the  manager  of  the  company,  sitting  on  a 
snubbing-post  and  swinging  his  legs.  Men  were 
needed  now,  thought  the  Captain  angrily — grown 
men,  not  children. 

"One  spring  house-cleaning  time — I  generally 
put  in  the  early  mornings  and  evenings  there — 
G.  Hyde  called  me  in — I  was  putting  down  the 
hall  rugs  just  then — he  called  me  in  to  light  the 
gas.  I  had  a  match  ready  to  strike  and  he  reached 
over  and  took  it  away  from  me  and  put  it  back  in 
the  box.  'Young  man,'  he  said — he  never  liked 
to  remember  my  name — 'do  you  know  how  I  rose 
from  nothing  to  be  the  owner  of  this  property?' 
Then  he  picked  up  a  burnt  match,  held  it  down  to 
the  grate,  and  lighted  the  gas  with  that."  Hal- 
loran  smiled  a  far-away  smile.  "Aren't  some 
of  his  steamers  up  at  Pewaukoe  now?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  the  same  careless 
voice,  and  it  took  the  Captain  a  moment  to  realize 
that  the  subject  had  been  changed.  Then  he 
answered  with  a  puzzled  expression: 

"Yes;  the  G.  H.  Bigelow  should  have  come  in 
there  two  or  three  days  ago.  The  other  boats  are 
at  Chicago  or  up  on  Lake  Superior. " 


90  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Big  boat,  isn't  it ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Got  a  good  crew  for  her?" 

The  Captain,  all  at  sea,  could  think  of  nothing 
but  an  affirmative  to  this. 

"What's  the  Captain's  name?" 

"Carpenter." 

"Who's  the  engineer?" 

"Robbie  MacGregor." 

"Good  man?" 

"Robbie?     Certainly.     None  better." 

Halloran  slid  down  off  the  post  and  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"Old  G.  Hyde  is  getting  up  just  about  now. 
He's  a  great  hand  at  early  rising — preaches  a  good 
deal  about  it — likes  to  say  that  if  he  hadn't  been 
brought  up  on  a  good  old  gentleman  known  as 
B.  Franklin  he'd  never  be  where  he  is  now. 
Well,  maybe  he  wouldn't." 

The  Captain's  temper  was  hanging  on  the  edge 
of  an  explosion,  but  Halloran  went  on. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done  here  now.  Try 
to  keep  everything  ready — if  you  can  pick  up  a 
man  to  fire  up,  I  should — and  we'll  probably  get 
off  this  afternoon  sometime."  And  he  strolled 
off,  leaving  the  Captain  to  stare  after  him  and 
give  vent  to  the  first  rumblings  of  a  storm. 

Halloran,  in  his  old  clothes  and  faded  purple 
sweater  and  college  cap,  was  headed  for  the  rail- 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE  91 

road  station.  At  the  station  he  took  the  Pewau- 
koe  train;  at  Pewaukoe  he  walked  down  to  the 
mills,  fairly  certain  that  none  of  Bigelow's  men 
there  would  recognize  him.  The  G.  H.  Bigelow 
lay  at  the  wharf,  as  Craig  had  said.  She  was 
taking  on  a  cargo. 

The  mills  were  on  the  low  ground  by  the  river. 
From  the  road  he  could  overlook  them  and  the 
great  piles  of  lumber  that  crowded  close  to  the 
water's  edge  for  hundreds  of  yards  up  and  down 
stream,  and  he  leaned  on  the  fence  to  take  it  in. 
As  far  up  as  he  could  see  the  river  was  blocked 
with  logs.  The  mills  were  singing  and  buzzing 
and  humming — it  was  plain  that  the  Bigelow 
vitalizing  process  had  begun,  and  that  all  hands 
were  being  crowded  on  the  work  in  order  to  sell 
lumber  at  a  loss  to  Higginson's  customers.  He 
thought  he  would  walk  down  through  the  yards 
toward  the  steamer. 

As  the  unknown  man,  wearing  a  purple  sweater 
and  somewhat  in  need  of  a  shave,  walked  past 
the  shore  end  of  the  nearer  mill,  the  eyes  of  the 
Superintendent  fell  upon  him.  A  moment  later 
the  two  met. 

"How  are  you?"  said  the  Superintendent,  sus- 
picious but  civil. 

"First  rate.     How  are  you?" 

"Want  to  see  any  one?" 

"No;  just  looking  around." 


92  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Where  were  you  going?"  asked  the  Superin- 
tendent, trying  to  veil  his  suspicions. 

"Nowhere  especially.  I  didn't  suppose  they'd 
be  any  objection  if  I  watched  'em  loading  the 
steamer." 

"  No — certainly  not. "     This  reluctantly. 

"  Got  a  great  lot  of  lumber  here,  haven't  you?" 
Halloran  was  looking,  as  he  spoke,  at  a  longpile  that 
extended  to  a  point  within  fifty  feet  of  the  mill. 

"Yes;  working  nights  right  along — with  all  the 
men  I  can  get.  That  pile  doesn't  stay  here; 
but  we're  so  crowded  I  had  to  leave  it  over 
night — just  until  I  get  the  Bigelow  loaded  up. 
I'm  going  to  put  on  a  big  force  this  afternoon  and 
carry  it  all  down  to  the  wharf.  Some  days  lately 
we've  been  so  crowded  I  really  haven't  known 
how  I  was  going  to  get  things  done. " 

Slowly  it  was  dawning  on  Halloran  that  he  was 
suspected  of  being — not  the  manager  for  Higgin- 
son  &  Company — but  a  lynx-eyed  insurance 
inspector,  out  running  down  violations  of  the 
clear-space  clause.  This  wouldn't  do.  It  was 
not  on  his  books  to  be  drawn  into  an  extended 
conversation  with  Bigelow' s  superintendent.  He 
would  have  to  fall  back  on  lying  if  this  were  to 
keep  up  much  longer. 

"Say,"  he  observed,  "what  was  that  fellow 
doing  down  in  the  water,  hopping  around  on  the 
logs  with  a  long  pole  ? " 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     93 

The  Superintendent  was  beginning  to  lose 
interest. 

/'He  picks  out  logs  of  the  right  sizes. " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  can  tell  just  by  look- 
ing at  a  log  in  the  water  what  size  it  will  cut  to?" 

A  curt  nod  was  the  only  reply. 

"  Isn't  it  remarkable  how  a  man  can  get  trained 
to  things  ?  Now  if  I  were  to  try  a  thing  like 
that " 

But  the  Superintendent  had  fled. 

Halloran  walked  slowly  on  to  the  wharf,  and 
stood  watching  the  gangs  that  were  carrying  the 
heavy  sticks  over  the  rail  of  the  steamer.  Two 
steam  hoists  were  clanking  and  rattling  as  the 
booms  swung  back  and  forth.  Bosses  were  shout- 
ing and  swearing — everywhere  was  confusion, 
but  confusion  that  moved  steadily  onward  toward 
the  loading  of  the  steamer.  Halloran  dodged 
around  the  labourers  and  walked  along  the  wharf 
until  he  was  opposite  'the  engine-room  door. 
Within  was  a  fat  man  in  overalls  tinkering  over 
the  machinery.  Halloran  climbed  up  to  the  deck 
and  stood  in  the  doorway. 

" How  are  you?"  he  observed.     "Nice  day!" 

The   engineer   nodded. 

"  You  must  be  Mr.  MacGregor,  aren't  you?" 

"That's  my  name." 

"Mine  is  Halloran." 

MacGregor  looked  up,  surprised. 


94  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Yes,  I  am  with  Higginson  &  Company." 

MacGregor  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  this. 
Halloran,  however,  went  right  on. 

' '  How  do  you  like  working  for  Bigelow  ? "  And 
without  leaving  time  to  reply,  he  added:  "Mean 
old  humbug,  ain't  he?" 

11  What  do  you  know  about  Bigelow  ? " 

"Used  to  work  for  him  myself.  I  had  all  I 
wanted  of  him.  He  isn't  square.  That's  what 
brings  me  here.  We  need  a  good  engineer,  and 
Captain  Craig  tells  me  you  are  the  best  on  the 
lakes.  Is  that  so?" 

MacGregor 's  mind  had  not  caught  up  yet;  and 
Halloran  continued : 

"I  want  to  take  you  back  to  Wauchung  with 
me.  We  will  raise  your  salary  five  hundred 
dollars,  and  engage  you  for  as  long  a  time  as  you 
think  right!  You  know  Higginson  &  Company — 
and  you  know  we  keep  our  promises.  Then  you 
can  tell  Bigelow  to  go  to  hell  if  you  want  to. 
I  know  how  Bigelow's  men  feel."  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  "We  can  get  the  9:53  train 
down." 

"You  don't  mean  to  go  this  morning?"  said 
MacGregor. 

"Yes;  right  off.  You  surely  have  an  assistant 
you  can  leave  in  charge  of  the  engine. " 

The  fat  man  backed  up  against  the  opposite 
door  and  looked  at  Halloran. 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     95 

"  See  here, "  he  said,  "  what  does  this  mean  ? " 

"Mean?" — Halloran's  anger,  that  had  been 
rising  since  six  o'clock,  began  to  boil  over — 
"Mean?  It  means  that  Bigelow  has  come  into 
the  lumber  business  with  the  idea  of  running 
Higginson  out.  And  if  you  know  anything  about 
Martin  L.  Higginson  you  know  that  old  Bigelow 
has  bitten  off  the  biggest  hunk  he  ever  tried  to 
get  his  mouth  around.  It  means  that  G.  Hyde 
Bigelow' s  going  to  get  such  a  hob-nailed  roost 
in  the  breeches  that  he'll  be  lucky  to  come  down 
at  all.  He's  going  to  have  the  whole  damned 
zodiac  buzzing  around  in  his  head  before  he  gets 
through  with  Higginson — that's  what  it  means ! 
I've  come  up  here  this  morning  to  tell 
you  that  we  want  an  engineer,  and  that 
you're  the  man  we  want.  And  we  want  you 
to  go  on  the  9:53  train — that's  about  forty 
minutes  now." 

MacGregor  was  thinking  hard.  He  knew  a 
little  about  Bigelow  and  a  good  deal  more  about 
Higginson.  He  liked  the  phrase,  too — what  was 
it — oh,  "the  best  engineer  on  the  lakes." 

"Can't  you  give  me  a  day  to  think  it  over,  Mr. 
Halloran?" 

"Sorry,  but  I'm  afraid  not.  We  need  you 
right  off." 

"What  did  you  say  your  offer  was?". 

"What  you  think  is  fair.     But   I'll  tell  you 


96  THE   WHIP   HAND 

flatly,  we'll  pay  you  more  than  Bigelow  will — 
five  hundred  a  year  more.  You  have  just  about 
comfortable  time  to  get  up  to  your  house  and 
change  your  clothes.  I'll  meet  you  at  the  station." 

"What  if  Bigelow  should  make  trouble  about 
my  contract?"  asked  MacGregor  dubiously. 

"  Don't  you  worry  a  minute  about  that.  We'll 
back  you  up  to  the  last  notch. " 

MacGregor  thought  it  over  a  little  longer. 
Then  he  turned  his  ponderous  frame  and  called 
to  his  assistant. 

"All  right,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder  to 
Halloran,  "I'll  meet  you  at  the  station." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  William  H.  Babcock  was 
rising  from  a  hotel  breakfast  in  Grand  Rapids  and 
reaching  for  the  toothpicks.  As  he  strolled  out 
to  the  office  to  buy  a  paper  he  picked  his  teeth 
and  smiled  softly. 

Feeling  painfully  outside  of  it  all — almost 
inclined  to  wonder  if  his  troubles  were  real,  if  the 
mills  behind  him,  the  lumber  piled  on  either  side 
of  him,  the  laden  steamer  before  him  were  real ;  if 
this  round  world,  even,  with  its  mixture  of  ups 
and  downs  and  ins  and  outs,  were  real — Mr. 
Higginson  stood  on  the  wharf  at  Captain  Craig's 
side.  The  steamer's  fires  had  not  yet  been 
started  and  it  was  now  after  eleven  o'clock.  The 
engineers  had  disappeared,  and  with  them  the 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     97 

oilers  and  stokers;  the  wheelmen  were  gone,  and 
the  lookouts — nothing  left  in  Wauchung  but  a 
few  deckhands.  And  now,  to  cap  it  all,  Halloran 
had  dropped  suddenly  off  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
leaving  a  certain  old  Scotch  captain  to  rumble 
internally  and  now  and  then  to  burst  into  eruption 
with  scorching  phrases  about  boys  that  ought  to 
be  back  in  the  nursery,  about  babes  that  had  been 
prematurely  weaned. 

Into  this  scene  of  gloom  and  desolation  came 
Halloran,  recognizable  half-way  up  to  the  mill  by 
the  purple  sweater,  carrying  a  bulging  canvas 
telescope ;  and  following  him,  somewhat  scant  of 
breath,  hurried  a  fat  man  with  a  patent-leather 
valise.  The  gloomy  ones  observed  them  at  the 
same  moment.  Mr.  Higginson  gave  a  nervous 
start,  then  was  swept  by  a  feeling  of  relief  that 
almost  brought  a  smile  to  his  face.  The  Captain 
looked — and  looked — and — the  rumblings  ceased. 
Nothing  further  was  heard  that  day  about 
nursing-bottles. 

"  Hallo,  Robbie,  "  was  all  that  Craig  could  bring 
himself  to  say  when  the  fat  man  had  reached  the 
wharf  and  set  down  his  valise  and  begun  swabbing 
his  face  with  a  handkerchief  that  showed  signs  of 
use  since  he  had  fallen  into  Halloran' s  hands. 

"How  are  you,  Cap'n?" 

Mr.  Higginson  drew  his  manager  aside. 

"  Who  is  this  man?" 


98  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"He  is  the  new  engineer." 

Mr.  Higginson's  eyes  shifted  from  Halloran  to 
the  fat  man  and  back  again  two  or  three  times. 
Then,  as  time  was  pressing,  he  decided  to  ask  no 
questions. 

"  There  is  a  man  up  the  river  that  understands 
firing,"  he  said.  "Crosman  has  gone  up  to  get 
him." 

"Have  we  any  wheelmen?" 

"Yes,  one  of  Craig's  old  men  is  in  the  mill. 
When  do  you  plan  to  start  ? " 

"  Right  away — as  soon  as  we  can  fire  up. " 

Mr.  Higginson  was  on  the  point  of  suggesting  a 
wait  until  the  next  morning,  but  he  withheld  this, 
too.  And  so  Halloran,  who  had  promised  to 
deliver  the  lumber  by  the  morning  of  the  four- 
teenth, and  who  would  have,  taken  the  steamer 
down  himself  rather  than  give  Bigelow  the  pleasure 
of  delaying  him  fifteen  minutes,  went  on  with 
the  work  of  preparation. 

At  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  they  were  off, 
with  one  man  in  the  wheel-house,  a  quartet  of 
clumsy  deckhands  in  the  stoke-hole,  a  devoutly 
profane  fat  man  in  the  engine-room,  and  one 
combined  lookout  and  deckhand  by  the  name  of 
Halloran — every  man  of  them  facing  a  solid  twelve 
hours  on  duty.  Never  had  steamer  gone  out 
between  the  Wauchung  piers  in  such  plight 
before.  If  the  white-clad  Swede  in  the  lookout 


MR.  BABCOCK  BREAKFASTS  LATE     99 

of  the  life-saving  station  could  have  seen  through 
the  walls  of  this  good  ship  Higginson,  could  have 
known  the  facts  that  lay  behind  this  brave  front, 
he  would  have  wagged  his  head  dubiously  and  long. 

But  the  stars  were  kind  on  the  thirteenth  of 
this  month.  Captain  Craig,  standing  on  the 
wheel-house  and  guiding  her  out  toward  deep 
water,  found  himself  looking  on  a  flat  mirror  that 
blended,  miles  aw^ay,  into  the  blue  sky.  Streaked 
with  wide  reaches  of  green  and  purple  and  corn- 
colour  was  Lake  Michigan  to-day — wearing  her 
gladdest  dress  over  a  calm  heart.  And  Halloran 
and  the  Captain,  both  of  whom  knew  her  temper, 
who  had  met  once,  indeed,  when  she  was  angriest, 
near  Evanston  a  few  years  earlier — recognized 
themselves  for  very  lucky  men. 

And  so  the  old  Higginson  No.  i  headed  south- 
ward, and  plowed  deliberately  down  past  Point 
Sable,  and  heaved  out  a  long  line  of  black  smoke 
just  as  if  she  had  been  a  real  full-handed  steamer 
with  real  firemen  throwing  coal  into  the  greedy 
furnaces.  There  was  even  some  enthusiasm 
aboard;  not  one  even  of  the  stokers  but  knew 
dimly  that  they  were  fighting.  They  even  felt,  the 
younger  ones,  like  men  marching  into  battle,  and 
when  the  Higginson  was  fairly  out  on  the  lake  and 
swinging  around  on  her  course,  one  amateur  fire- 
man of  the  watch  below  ran  down  the  ladder  to 
pass  the  good  news  to  his  less  fortunate  brethren 


TOO  THE   WHIP   HAND 

on  duty.  And  if  the  heat  of  the  work  had  been 
less  trying,  these  grimy  fellows,  stripped  to  the 
drawers  and  covered  with  sweat  and  coal,  might 
even  have  given  three  cheers. 

They  ran  down  slowly,  of  course.  It  was 
getting  on  toward  daylight  when  the  Higginson 
steamed  into  the  harbour  at  Michigan  City  and 
tied  up  at  the  wharf  of  the  lumber  company,  and 
it  was  a  heartily  exhausted  set  of  men  that  rolled 
into  their  bunks  to  snatch  a  wink  before  day 
should  come,  bringing  more  work  with  it. 

At  eight  o'clock  Halloran  walked  over  to  the 
Company's  office  and  inquired  for  the  manager. 

"I'm  Halloran,"  he  said,  "of  Higginson  & 
Company.  How  soon  can  you  begin  unloading  ? " 

"Right  away,"  replied  the  manager  civilly, 
but  with  an  odd  expression.  "I'm  just  sending 
some  men  down."  His  surprise  was  so  great 
that  it  had  to  find  some  expression.  He  seemed 
to  be  thinking  it  over  as  he  left  his  desk  to  go 
to  the  wharf.  Finally,  with  an  effort  at  an 
off-hand  manner,  he  added,  "You're  prompt 
on  time. " 

"  Sure, "  replied  Halloran.     "  Why  not  ? " 


CHAPTER  V 
A  VENTURE  IN  MATRIMONY 

IT  was  Saturday  night  on  the  North  Side,  and 
shortly  after  six  o'clock.  That  part  of  the  world 
that  centres  in  North  Clark  Street  between 
Lincoln  Park  and  the  Bridge  was  already  begin- 
ning to  stir  and  stretch  and  shake  off  the  dust  of 
the  day;  was  swarming  in  from  scores  of  cross 
streets,  to  parade  before  the  show-windows  and 
pour  into  the  beer-gardens  and  restaurants,  to 
crowd  at  the  corners — a  motley  company  of 
washed  and  unwashed;  of  labourers  and  shop- 
girls hurrying  home,  and  of  more  fortunate  ones, 
old  and  young,  sauntering  from  home,  to  get  out 
of  life  what  North  Clark  Street  had  to  offer. 

Strains  of  dance  music  floated  out  over  board 
fences  that  were  gaudy  with  posters,  out  over 
evergreen  hedges  that  thrived  in  green  tubs.  All 
the  world  was  gay  to-night;  all  the  world  was  in 
the  mood  to  sit  at  white  tables  under  the  trees 
and  dine  on  the  best  of  German  fare,  to  tip  back 
and  listen  to  German  music  from  German  orches- 
tras, to  toss  the  waiter  half  a  dollar ;  life  was  gay, 
life  was  jolly;  all  was  well  with  the  world.  No 

101 


102  THE   WHIP   HAND 

half-lights  here,  no  miserly  crouching  in  shadows, 
no  gloomy  ones  to  spoil  it  all;  nothing  but  froth 
on  the  glass,  a  laugh  on  the  lip,  and  here's  looking 
at  you ! 

But  think  again.  Of  all  these  houses  of  amuse- 
ment was  there  not  one  standing  empty — was 
there  not  one  where  gloom  reigned?  Glance 
along  the  street,  pass  the  policeman  on  the  corner 
— the  fat  policeman,  for  whose  sake  we  will  hope 
-'all  thieves  are  slow  of  foot — down  past  other 
corners  and  other  fat  policemen,  down  almost  to 
the  river,  so  near  that  the  smell  of  the  water 
poisons  the  air.  Was  there  not  a  dingy  little 
playhouse,  overwhelmed  by  the  soot  and  grime 
of  the  city,  by  the  noise  of  the  trains  that  seemed 
to  be  rushing  into  the  building  with  bells  ringing 
and  every  steam-valve  open — overwhelmed,  too, 
by  the  rattle  and  struggle  of  the  street,  and  the 
large  buildings  that  crowded  so  close  on  each  side 
that  they  threatened  to  come  together  with  a 
snap  and  leave  no  trace  of  the  dingy  little  struc- 
ture with  its  porte  cochere  front.  If  there  was, 
anywhere  in  this  big  city,  a  building  that  spoke 
of  failure,  of  pitiful  inadequacy  for  any  metro- 
politan purpose,  of  aimlessness  and  inevitable 
wreckage,  here  it  stood,  bearing  the  hesitating 
announcement  that  within  might  be  found 
Somebody's  Original  Oriental  Burlesquers  and 
Refined  Vaudeville. 


A   VENTURE   IN   MATRIMONY       103 

Not  long  after  six  o'clock  was  it,  and  the  linger- 
ing remnants  of  a  very  thin  audience  were  rapidly 
escaping  before  the  onslaught  of  the  ' 'chasers." 
The  particular  chaser  that  held  the  stage  at  the 
moment  was  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  rather  nimble 
as  to  the  legs,  who  was  exercising  a  sound  pair  of 
lungs  on  a  song,  a  tender  memory  of  a  certain 
Bridget  O'Grady,  who,  he  vowed,  was  a  perfect 
lady.  The  fiddles  squeaked  and  rasped,  the 
piano  tinkled,  the  bass  viol  rumbled  in  loudest  of 
all;  and  the  audience  grew  thinner  and  thinner 
—narrowed  down,  in  fact,  to  a  few  questionable 
individuals  who  had,  one  feared,  no  better  place 
to  go.  After  the  song  there  was  a  dance  in  which 
the  nimble  legs  appeared  to  some  advantage. 
And  if  we  had  been  tucked  away  in  a  corner  of 
that  dirty  stage,  behind  the  wings  that  were  slit 
and  frayed  from  years  of  service — if  we  had 
watched  the  Irish  vocalist  when  he  came  off  and 
readjusted  his  carroty  wig,  we  could  not  have 
failed  to  recognize  in  the  possessor  of  the  nimble 
legs  and  the  sound  lungs  our  old  friend  Apples. 

Somewhere  in  the  course  of  his  career  Apples 
had  dropped  a  stitch;  for  the  goal  of  all  true 
Thespians,  the  myriad-minded  Shakespeare, 
was  still  only  a  waking  dream  for  Apples,  was 
still  no  more  than  a  twinkling  constellation  that 
shone  and  shone  in  the  far  heavens,  serenely 
unconscious  that  one  Appleton  Le  Due  was 


io4  THE   WHIP   HAND 

striving  upward.  But  was  it  not  an  encourage- 
ment to  recall  the  inspiriting  words  of  the  professor 
of  elocution,  that  Shakespeare  himself  had  been 
a  country  boy ;  that  he,  too,  had  gone  to  the  city 
to  seek  his  fortune;  that  he,  too,  had  stumbled 
and  struggled,  and  climbed  and  climbed  until  he 
had  reached  the  highest  pinnacle  of  fame  ? 

Something  was  certainly  on  the  mind  of  the 
rising  actor  to-night — something  that  elevated 
him  above  the  dingy  hall  and  the  sleepy  audience. 
Pausing  only  to  mop  his  brow,  back  he  went  in 
response  to  his  encore — the  encore  that  was 
mentioned  in  his  contract — as  cheerfully  as  if 
the  audience  had  really  given  him  a  hand;  and 
the  sound  lungs  burst  out  again,  to  another 
scraping,  tinkling,  rumbling  accompaniment;  and 
the  voice  of  Apples  rose  high  in  the  praise  of 
Mary,  my  fairy,  the  Maid  of  Ochlone,  whose 
heart-dum-de-dumdy-  dum  -  surely  -  my  -  own .  The 
sight  of  a  newspaper  spread  wide  before  the  face 
of  the  only  occupant  of  an  orchestra  seat  could 
Hot  disturb  Apples  this  evening;  the  glimpse  of 
two  newsboys  in  the  gallery,  aiming  with  peanuts 
at  the  bald  head  behind  the  newspaper,  could  not 
so  much  as  ruffle  him;  for  golden-haired  Mary, 
dee-doodle-dee-fairy,  dee-iddle-dee-airy,  ta  raddle- 
my-own.  Very  blithe  was  Apples,  strangely 
blithe  for  an  underpaid  chaser  in  the  most 
despondent  theatre  on  the  North  Side. 


A  VENTURE   IN   MATRIMONY       105 

There  was  another  little  scene  taking  place  at 
this  time  in  which  we  are  interested.  In  the 
lodging  of  Mrs.  Craig — not  two  rooms  now,  but 
one,  with  a  decrepit  cook-stove  in  one  corner  and 
a  ragged  quilt  hung  across  another  corner  to  serve 
as  a  partition  between  George's  bedroom  and  the 
re'st  of  the  space — a  silent  woman  was  cooking  a 
meager  supper.  A  very  silent  woman  was  Mrs. 
Craig  at  this  time,  even  more  so  than  formerly. 
The  room  was  hot  and  close  with  the  odour  of 
cooking. 

Into  this  home,  at  a  little  before  six,  came 
Lizzie  Bigelow,  grown  rather  more  mature  in 
appearance  since  we  last  saw  her,  of  a  rounder 
figure  and  a  brighter  colour.  She  was  in  good 
spirits  to-night.  By  some  miracle  she  was  as 
fresh  and  healthy  as  if  she  had  been  given  nothing 
but  the  best  of  food,  the  purest  air  and  plenty 
of  time  for  exercise;  and  to  the  mother  it  seemed 
as  if  a  whiff  of  fresh  air  had  come  with  her  into 
the  room. 

"  Well,  Lizzie,  you  are  back  early. " 

"Yes;  I  got  off  at  half -past  five.  Where  is 
George?" 

''He  has  to  work  late  to-night." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  forgot.  You  are  tired,  ma.  You 
sit  down  awhile  and  let  me  finish  the  supper. " 
She  was  throwing  aside  her  hat  and  jacket  as 
she  spoke,  and  she  smiled  at  her  mother  in  a  way 


io6  THE   WHIP   HAND 

that  brought  an  expression  of  gratefulness  and 
surprise  to  the  face  of  the  older  woman.  "Now 
you  just  sit  down  awhile.  I'm  going  to  get 
supper  ready  to-night." 

It  appeared  that  she  really  meant  it;  and  the 
mother,  after  a  little  protesting,  made  way  for 
her  by  the  stove.  Indeed,  it  promised  to  be  quite 
a  jolly  eveningj  if  only  George  could  get  home 
in  time  to  share  it.  Even  without  him,  what 
with  a  merry  recital  of  the  funny  things  that  had 
happened  at  the  office  during  the  day,  and  with 
other  talk  of  an  equally  unusual  good  humour, 
Mrs.  Craig  was  almost  bewildered.  She  knew 
only  too  well  how  unexpectedly  Lizzie's  high 
spirits  could  turn  corners,  how  petulant  this 
merry,  black-eyed  girl  could  be. 

After  supper,  announcing  that  she  was  going 
to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  Lizzie  went  out,  first 
ingeniously  smuggling  a  small  package  outside 
the  door  under  pretense  of  opening  it  for  air. 
Next  she  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket  and  stood  for 
a  moment  smiling;  finally  she  bent  over  her 
mother  and  kissed  her,  an  act  so  surprising  that 
Mrs.  Craig  flushed  with  pleasure.  Then,  with  a 
nervous  little  laugh  and  a  fling  of  her  skirts,  she 
had  whisked  out  and  the  door  was  closed.  There 
was  a  pause  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  while  she 
fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  a  folded  slip  of  paper 
which  she  tucked  silently  into  the  crack  of  the 


A   VENTURE   IN   MATRIMONY       TO; 

door;  but  at  last  she  was  off,  running  down  the 
stairs  with  her  bundle  held  tightly  under  her 
jacket,  and  hurrying  across  the  street  to  avoid 
meeting  George  in  case  he  should  be  returning 
home  at  this  hour. 

The  encore  was  over  and  Apples  was  hurrying, 
wig  in  hand,  to  the  dressing-room.  There  he 
threw  off  his  costume,  dressed  for  the  street, 
packed  all  his  " properties"  hastily  in  an  old 
valise,  and  went  out  at  the  stage-door.  The 
doorkeeper  nodded  to  him. 

"You're  off  now,  are  you?" 

"Yes;  I'm  through  here." 

"Got  your  pay?" 

"Some    of    it." 

"You're  lucky." 

"Guess  I  am.     Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

Apples,  still  hurrying,  still  wanting  breath, 
turned  the  corner,  paused,  I6oked  up  the  street 
and  down,  seemed  disappointed  and  irresolute, 
and  finally  turned  his  valise  on  end  and  sat  on  it. 
From  where  he  sat  in  the  shadow  of  a  dark  build- 
ing he  could  see  the  flow  of  life  along  North  Clark 
Street,  and  he  watched  it  nervously.  He  seemed 
somewhat  oppressed  by  the  rush  and  whirl 
of  things,  as  if  in  mid-course  of  a  tempestuous 
career  he  had  paused  to  think.  The  soot-laden 


io8  THE   WHIP   HAND 

air  was  portentous  to-night;  the  rattle  and 
rumble  of  the  street,  the  guffaws  from  the  actors' 
saloon  at  his  elbow,  the  roar  and  hurry  of  it  all, 
bore  heavily  on  his  spirits  as  he  sat  waiting  there. 
For  Apples  was  on  the  brink  of  something — 
something  new  and  strange.  Before  him  lay  an 
unexplored  country,  and  who  could  say  if  it 
should  prove  a  land  of  roses  or  a  black  abyss. 
For  better  or  worse  it  was  to  be,  a  plunge  into  the 
future,  vastly  unlike  certain  other  plunges  that 
he  had  been  forced  to  take — alone.  Circum- 
stances had  swept  him  on;  the  offer  had  come, 
bearing  the  guarantee  that  at  last  his  name 
should  appear  on  all  posters  in  letters  not  shorter 
than  three  and  one-half  inches;  the  other  one, 
whose  face  and  voice  had  helped  to  make  it  all 
possible,  was  willing,  with  a  fluttering  heart,  to 
keep  her  promise ;  the  small  boy  with  the  wizened 
face,  whose  thin  legs  were  to  help  make  their  joint 
fortunes,  had  jumped  at  the  chance;  and  here  he 
was  on  the  brink.  Henceforth  the  three  Le  Dues, 
three,  were  to  be  a  feature  in  the  theatrical  world. 
And  the  black  sky,  bearing  oppressively  down 
like  an  emblem  of  great  grim  Chicago,  was  por- 
tentous indeed. 

At  last  a  woman,  with  a  small  package  under 
her  jacket,  slipped  out  from  the  crowd  and  came 
hesitatingly  down  the  side  street.  Apples  rose. 

" Hello,"  he  said, 


A  VENTURE   IN   MATRIMONY       109 

"Hello." 

"Got  everything?" 

' '  Yes ;  where's  Jimmie  ? ' ' 

"He's  waiting  at  the  pier. " 

And  so,  without  speaking  further,  these  two 
young  persons,  who  were  about  to  take  the  plunge 
hand  in  hand,  set  out  together  toward  the  east. 
A  block  farther  on  she  said,  with  a  show  of  petu- 
lance, " Have  we  got  to  take  Jimmie  along?" 

"  Yes,  we'd  have  to  come  back  here  if  we  didn't. 
We've  got  to  join  the  company  Monday  night, 
you  know,  at  South  Bend. " 

They  crossed  over  the  Rush  Street  bridge  and 
took  the  early  steamer  for  St.  Joseph.  From  now 
on  they  should  have  no  difficulty.  There  was  a 
reverend  person  in  St.  Joseph  who  was  always 
glad  to  marry  foolish  young  men  and  foolish  young 
girls,  for  a  consideration.  And  this  reverend  one, 
in  the  evening's  rest  after  a  day  given  to  guiding 
his  flock  heavenward,  could  surely  find  a  few 
moments  in  which  to  make  these  two  one.  They 
could  be  sure  of  finding  discretion  here,  sure  that 
no  awkward  questions  would  be  asked,  that  no 
permission  from  unreasonable  parents  would  be 
hinted  at;  sure,  in  brief,  that  the  good  divine 
would  be  entirely  at  their  service,  would  wish 
them  Godspeed  on  the  up-road  or  the  down-roaci 
or  any  conceivable  road — for  a  consideration. 


CHAPTER  VI 
A   SHUT-DOWN 

THE  weeks  went  spinning  by.  Both  sides  were 
losing  so  heavily  that  the  fight  was  becoming 
grim.  On  the  one  hand,  Bigelow,  with  his 
unreasonable  directors  to  keep  in  line,  was  closing 
in  relentlessly  on  the  Wauchung  interests ;  on  the 
other  hand,  Higginson  &  Company  were  holding 
on  with  an  endurance  that  puzzled  Mr.  Bigelow. 

And  it  was  at  this  time,  when  affairs  were 
leaping  along  toward  a. crisis,  that  Doctor  Brown 
of  Wauchung  took  a  hand  by  ordering  Mr.  Hig- 
ginson to  bed.  Nothing  but  a  complete  rest  could 
save  him  from  a  breakdown,  said  the  Doctor — • 
news  which  brought  Mrs.  Higginson  down  with 
nervous  exhaustion,  which  set  Mamie's  wits 
a-fluttering,  which  complicated  matters  somewhat 
for  Halloran.  The  longer  Halloran  studied  the 
business,  the  longer  he  pored  over  statements 
of  profits  and  statements  of  losses  that  could  not 
be  brought  together,  the  plainer  became  the  facts. 
Ideas  were  floating  in  his  head,  ideas  so  nearly 
what  he  wanted  that  he  knew  it  would  be  only  a 
question  of  time  before  he  could  catch  one  or  the 


A    SHUT-DOWN  in 

other  of  them  and  bring  it  down  into  the  world 
of  reality — ideas  that  were  later  to  be  brought  to 
bear,  perhaps,  on  Bigelow  and  his  combination; 
but  meanwhile  his  course  was  clear.  The  logical 
next  step  was  to  shut  down  the  mills. 

He  dared  not  think  of  all  the  details  in  connec- 
tion with  such  a  step,  of  what  it  would  mean  to 
Mr.  Higginson,  to  the  hundreds  of  men  who  had 
grown  up  in  the  work,  or  to  what  few  other  busi- 
ness interests  there  were  in  Wauchung;  the  mere 
consideration  of  the  moral  issue  involved  led  into 
such  a  maze  of  pros  and  cons  that  he  resolutely 
set  it  aside  and  kept  his  mind  fixed  on  the  business 
facts,  If  this  step  were  not  taken,  the  heavy 
expense  of  maintenance  would  swamp  Higginson 
&  Company  and  everybody  connected  with  them 
so  deep  that  all  the  king's  horses  could  not  drag 
them  out;  by  shutting  down,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  could  prolong  the  fight.  The  trust  would  be 
free  to  continue  selling  at  a  loss ;  but  Higginson  & 
Company  would  be  enabled  to  leave  their  timber 
growing  in  the  forest  until  prices  should  reach 
normal  again. 

As  Mr.  Higginson' s  whole  fortune  was  in  the 
business,  his  income  was  now  next  to  nothing; 
but  Halloran  believed  he  could  hold  out  six 
months  or  so  longer.  On  the  other  hand,  he  did 
not  think  Bigelow  could  last  so  long  at  the  head 
of  a  losing  venture.  Indeed,  if  for  one  moment 


ii2  THE  WHIP   HAND 

of  those  tense  days  he  had  lost  his  belief  that 
Bigelow  could  be  beaten,  Halloran  would  have 
dropped  out  of  this  story  on  this  page. 

One  evening  Doctor  Brown  received  a  call  from 
the  Manager. 

"Now,  Doctor,"  said  Halloran,  when  they 
were  seated  in  the  office,  "what  can  you  tell  me 
about  Mr.  Higginson  ?  Is  he  better  ? ' ' 

The  physician  shook  his  head.  "  No — no 
better." 

"  You  consider  his  case  serious?" 

"Yes," — gravely — "it  is  serious." 

"I  will  tell  you,  Doctor — for  you  must  under- 
stand it  before  you  can  answer  me — that  the 
business  is  in  a  situation  that  demands  his 
attention  if  he  is  able  to  give  it — even  for 
five  minutes." 

Doctor  Brown  shook  his  head  again. 

"Could  I  not  lay  a  decision  before  him,  Doctor, 
if  I  make  it  as  clear  and  simple  as  possible  ? " 

"No;  a  decision  would  be  the  last  thing  to 
bother  him  with." 

Halloran  sat  thinking.  This  was  difficult- 
very  difficult,  indeed.  Shutting  down  another 
man's  mills  without  his  knowledge  was  not  the 
sort  of  thing  he  liked  to  do.  The  physician  spoke 
again : 

"His  mind  must  have  a  rest,  Mr.  Halloran; 
that  is  the  only  way  we  can  save  him." 


A  SHUT-DOWN  113 

This  was  final,  and  Halloran  went  out  to  return 
to  his  room  and  pore  again  over  accounts  and 
statements,  to  think  again  of  Bigelow,  to  grope 
again  for  those  ideas  that  seemed  so  nearly  what 
he  wanted.  For  another  week  he  watched  the 
expense  account  mounting  up;  then  one  day  he 
sent  for  Crosman  to  come  to  his  office. 

"Mr.  Crosman,"  he  said,  "the  mills  will  shut 
down  Saturday  night.  Will  you  please  see  that 
the  men  are  notified?" 

Crosman  looked  at  Halloran  for  a  moment  to 
make  sure  that  he  understood;  then  with  a 
puzzled  expression  he  left  the  room.  Later  in  the 
day  he  met  Halloran  in  the  yard. 

"Am  I—  Do  you  want  me  to  leave 
Saturday?"  he  asked,  his  voice  full  of  emotion. 

"No,"  the  Manager  replied  shortly,  "you  stay; 
I  want  you. " 

That  evening  Halloran  was  at  work  in  his  room 
when  Crosman  came  in. 

"I  just  happened  around  at  Higginson's, "  he 
said,  evidently  somewhat  embarrassed,  "and 
Mamie  said  that  her  father  wants  to  see  you." 

"When— now?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  so." 

Halloran  pushed  aside  his  work  with  a  thought- 
ful face.  Presently  he  said: 

"  If  you  are  going  back  that  way,  I'll  walk  along 
you/' 


ii4  THE  WHIP   HAND 

The  door  was  opened  by  Mamie  herself. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Halloran,"  she  cried,  "I  don't  know 
what  to  say.  Father  isn't  well  at  all — he's  so 
nervous  and  excitable.  Doctor  Brown  told  me 
this  morning  not  to  let  him  see  you  at  all,  but  he 
says  he  must  see  you — he  made  me  send  Harry 
as  soon  as  he  got  here.  I  haven't  known  what 
to  do." 

Halloran  heard  her  through,  then  he  went 
directly 'up-stairs.  Mr.  Higginson's  room  was 
dimly  lighted,  and  it  was  a  moment  before  his 
eyes  could  distinguish  clearly;  but  when  he 
finally  made  out  the  thin  figure  propped  up  on 
the  bed  he  was  shocked  at  the  change  the  sickness 
had  wrought. 

"Sit  down,"  Mr.  Higginson  was  saying.  "Tell 
me  what  this  means."  His  voice  was  tremulous 
with  feeling.  "What  is  this  they  have  been 
telling  me  about  closing  the  mills?" 

"It  is  true.  I  have  arranged  to  shut  down 
Saturday  night." 

"True,  is  it?"  The  lean  old  figure  stirred  on 
its  pillows ;  the  thin  fingers  closed  tightly  on  a  fold 
of  the  bedclothes.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  are 
saying,  man?" 

"  We  can't  afford  to  pay  men  for  doing  nothing, 
Mr.  Higginson." 

"Do  you  realize  what  this  means?"  The  old 
man  raised  himself  on  his  elbow;  he  found  it 


A  SHUT-DOWN  115 

difficult  to  control  his  voice.  "Do  you  know 
that  I  brought  those  men  here,  that  I  have  sup- 
ported some  of  them  for  thirty  years?  Do  you 
think  they  can  be  cast  off  to  starve  ?  Why  didn't 
you  come  to  me  with  this  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
settling  it  out  of  hand?" 

"I  haven't  been  allowed  to  see  you." 
"Not    been  allowed!     Is    this    a    conspiracy? 
There's    some    meaning    to    this,     Halloran.     I 
insist  upon  knowing  it.     Do  you  mean  that   I 
have  got  to  the  end  ?     Have  we  lost  ? ' '     The  last 
few  words  were  spoken  with  a  sudden  return  to 
calmness;  but  his  eyes  were  shining. 
"  No,  not  at  all.     I  think  we  shall  win. " 
"You  think !— for  God's  sake,  Halloran,  speak 
out  and  have  it  over  with.     What's  the  matter— 
what  has  happened?" 

Halloran  came  over  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  where  he  could  talk  in  a  quiet 
voice. 

"We  have  not.  lost,  Mr.  Higginson,  and  what's 
more,  we  aren't  going  to  lose.  Bigelow's  people 
have  got  to  keep  on  selling  below  cost  until  some- 
thing happens.  We  certainly  couldn't  go  on 
running  full-handed  without  a  cent  of  income 
By  shutting  down  we  can  hold  out  longer  than 
they  can.  It's  hard  on  the  men,  but  it  is  hard  on 
the  rest  of  us,  too.  It's  the  only  way  we  can 
meet  them." 


n6  THE  WHIP   HAND 

Even  a  sick  man  could  see  the  soundness  of  this. 
And  somehow  the  presence  of  his  manager,  with 
his  air  of  health  and  confidence,  went  a  long  ways 
toward  restoring,  for  the  moment,  the  balance 
of  Mr.  Higginson's  mind.  He  fell  back  on  the 
pillows,  unstrung  after  his  excitement,  but  some- 
what relieved. 

Halloran  said  good-night  and  went  downstairs. 
Mamie  heard  his  step  and,  leaving  Crosman  in 
the  sitting-room,  she  met  him  in  the  hall. 

"I  meant  to  tell  you  not  to  come  down  yet," 
she  said  with  lowered  eyes.  "Ma  said  that  she 
wanted  to  see  you  when  you  came  in.  I'll  go 
ahead  if  you  don't  mind." 

He  followed  her  to  another  upstairs  room, 
where  he  found  Mrs.  Higginson  on  a  couch,  dressed 
in  the  daintiest  of  lace -trimmed  dressing-sacks. 
She  looked  up  when  he  entered  and  motioned 
wearily  to  a  chair. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  come, "  she  said.  "  Mamie, 
dear,  won't  you  get  me  my  heavy  shawl?" 

Mamie,  understanding,  left  the  room  and  did 
not  hurry  back. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  our  dear  girl, " 
began  Mrs.  Higginson.  "Of  course,  if  the  worst 
should  happen — you  understand —  Here  her 

emotion  overcame  her  for  a  moment.  "You 
can  understand  what  a  shock  it  has  been  to  me. 
Mr.  H.  had  not  told  me  of  the  trouble,  and  the 


A  SHUT-DOWN  117 

news  that  he  had  failed  came  like  a  thunderbolt. 
I  don't  mind  for  myself — but  if  anything  should 
happen — if  the  worst — I  could  go  so  much — so 
much  easier — if  I  knew  that  Mamie  was  provided 
for.  You  will  be  good  to  her,  John?  You  will 
forgive  me  for  calling  you  John?  It  is  the  way 
Mr.  H.  always  spoke  of  you  at  home—  She 

was  obliged  to  pause  again.  "  I  am  afraid  he  will 
never  c — call  you  John  again. " 

Her  handkerchief  went  up  to  her  eyes;  and 
Halloran  sat  back  and  looked  hard  at  a  picture 
of  the  first  Higginson  mill,  in  oils,  that  hung  over 
the  mantel. 

"I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  sell  the  house," 
she  went  on,  rallying.  "You  will  know  best 
about  that,  John.  I  am  sure  you  will  act  for  the 
best,  and  save  what  you  can  for  our  little  girl. 
You  will  be  good  to  her — I  am  sure  you  will.  She 
has  learned  to  admire  you  very  much.  And 
when  we  are — when  we  are  no  longer — and  the 
house  is  gone— 

"  Nothing  of  that  sort  will  be  necessary, "  broke 
in  Halloran,  glad  to  relieve  her  mind  and  the 
gloom  at  the  same  time.  "The  house  needn't  be 
sold.  I  think  we  shall  have  the  mills  running 
again  before  so  very  long." 

He  saw,  as  he  spoke,  that  his  words  struck  a 
discordant  note.  She  looked  at  him  incredu- 
lously. 


u8  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"It  isn't  so  bad  as  it  sounds —  He  meant 

to  make  it  better,  but,  failing,  stopped. 

"Do  you  mean  that  we  have  been  given  this 
shock  for  nothing?"  she  asked,  with  returning 
strength. 

The  only  way  out  was  retreat.  He  rose,  saying, 
"I  hope  to  have  good  news  for  you  soon,"  and 
bowed  a  good-night. 

He  found  Mamie  sitting  on  the  stairs  in  the 
dark  with  the  shawl  across  her  lap.  She  got  up 
with  a  little  sob  and  stood  back  against  the  rail 
for  him  to  pass. 

"Cheer  up,  Miss  Higginson, "  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "It  isn't  a  failure  at  all.  We  are  getting 
on  as  well  as  we  could  expect." 

She  put  both  hands  on  the  railing  to  steady 
herself  and  looked  up  at  him  in  amazement. 

"You  don't  mean  that,"  she  whispered,  "what 
you  said?" 

He  nodded.  "You  needn't  bother  about  it  at 
all.  Everything  is  all  right. " 

She  still  doubted.     "But  the  mills?" 

"The  mills  will  be  running  soon." 

"Oh,  really?"  she  said,  almost  wonderingly. 
"Really?" 

The  sobs  were  corning  again.  She  caught  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers  and  held  it  tightly.  "Then 
there  isn't  any  failure — and  you  are  going  to 
save  our  home  for  us?" 


A  SHUT-DOWN 


This  was  frying-pan  to  fire.  Halloran  answered 
hastily  : 

"  It  won't  be  necessary  to  save  it.  We  shall  be 
all  right  again  soon." 

His  matter-of-fact  tone  brought  her  to  herself. 
She  released  his  hand  and,  suddenly  plunged  into 
confusion,  hurried  upstairs. 

On  his  way  out  Halloran  paused  in  the  hall. 
Through  the  wide  doorway  he  could  see  Crosman, 
out  in  the  sitting-room,  striding  around  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  * 

"Good-night,  Crosman,"  he  ventured. 

But  the  other  would  not  hear  him  ;  and  Hallo- 
ran,  feeling  as  if  he  had  been  put  through  a 
wringer,  went  out. 


CHAPTER  VII 
HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO 

THE  next  morning — it  chanced  to  be  a  Friday-^ 
Crosman  came  over  to  Halloran's  desk. 

"Have  you  a  couple  of  minutes?"  he  asked. 

"Surely.     More  than  I  want.     Sit  down." 

Crosman  did  not  take  the  offered  chair,  but 
leaned  on  the  desk. 

"Miss  Higginson  spoke  to  me  last  night,"  he 
said,  with  visible  effort,  "about  the  family 
expenses.  She  thinks  they  ought  to  reduce  them 
all  around,  but  you,  she  says,  are  the  only  one 
that  knows  about  it.  I  suggested  that  she  talk 
it  over  with  you  herself ;  but  she  didn't  want  to, 
for  some  reason." 

Halloran  swung  back  in  his  chair. 

"  I  don't  know  how  well  you  understand  this 
business,  Crosman.  It  simply  amounts  to  this: 
The  combine  people  are  selling  lumber  below  cost 
to  run  us  out  of  business,  and  we  have  shut  down 
to  let  them  go  ahead  until  they're  sick  of  it. 
When  the  price  rises  we'll  start  up  again.  Of 
course  all  this  makes  a  big  difference  in  Mr.  Hig- 
ginson's  income.  I  suppose  there's  no  use  trying 

I2O 


HALLORAN   GOES   TO   CHICAGO       121 

to  make  that  plain  to  women,  but  if  you  can  do 
anything  to  clear  the  air  you'd  better  go  talk  to 
them.  Anyhow,  don't  let  them  make  any  differ- 
ence in  their  living.  We  mustn't  do  anything 
that  will  scare  people ;  the  Higginson  credit  is  good, 
and  it's  our  business  to  keep  it  good. " 

He  meditated  a  moment  and  then  looked  up 
and  said  abruptly: 

"Look  here,  Crosman,  you  can  do  me  a  favour 
if  you  want  to.  Mr.  Higginson' s  sickness  seems 
to  have  left  me  in  charge  of  his  family  finances. 
Now  suppose  you  take  the  whole  business  off  my 
hands.  You  know  both  Mrs.  Higginson  and 
Miss  Higginson  better  than  I  do;  and  I  think  it 
would  be  a  good  deal  easier  for  them  to  talk 
things  over  with  you  than  with  me.  You  can  let 
me  know  if  anything  special  comes  up  and  I'll 
help  you  work  it  out.  How  does  that  strike  you  ? ' ' 

"All  right,"  he  managed  finally  to  get  out. 
"I'll  try  it." 

"I  don't  believe  this  giving  away  lumber  can 
last  much  longer, ' '  said  Halloran. 

Something  about  those  phrases  that  had  been 
floating  in  Halloran' s  mind  for  weeks,  "giving 
away  lumber, "  "  selling  at  a  loss, "  "  selling  to  our 
customers,"  stuck  in  his  thoughts  now.  He  sat 
there,  leaning  back  in  his  swivel-chair  gazing  at  the 
rows  of  pigeon-holes — Crosman  still  leaning  on  the 
desk — while  his  mind  sailed  off  to  Pewaukoe;  he 


122  THE  WHIP   HAND 

saw  again  the  great  yards  of  the  Bigelow  Company 
crowded  full  of  lumber — the  mills  droning  cease- 
lessly, the  scores  of  men  swarming  over  the  work, 
the  steamer  hurrying  the  cargo — and  he  thought 
again  "all  this  is  to  be  sold  below  cost  to  our 
customers." 

Then  Halloran's  chair  came  down  with  a  bang 
and  his  open  hand  slapped  the  desk.  He  had 
got  it.  The  idea  that  had  evaded  him  all  these 
weeks  was  finally  run  to  cover, was  bagged  securely. 
And  the  simplicity  of  it  all,  the  feeling  of  utter 
imbecility  in  having  failed  to  see  it  before,  left 
him  limp.  But  he  recovered. 

"Crosman, "  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  Chicago 
to-night  and  may  not  get  back  before  the  first  of 
the  week.  You  look  out  for  things  here,  will 
you?" 

The  assistant  was  growing  hardened  to  sur- 
prises. He  merely  nodded  now,  with  a  curious 
expression. 

Halloran  had  got  it.  And  for  a  moment  he 
could  only  say  to  himself,  over  and  over:  "What 
a  fool !  What  a  fool!"  He  could  only  think  of 
that  tremendous  output  of  lumber  thrown  on 
the  market  for  a  song.  "  Selling  to  our  customers, 
eh,"  he  thought;  "selling  to  our  customers!" 

"Crosman,"  he  said,  when  he  felt  that  he  was 
on  his  legs  again,  "we're  going  to  buy  lumber. " 

Crosman  did  not  grasp  it  at  first. 


HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       123 

"We're  going  to  buy  lumber — all  we  can  get," 
Halloran  repeated;  "and  I'm  going  down  to  get 
the  money. " 

It  was  sinking  into  Crosman's  head — slowly  he 
was  gripping  it,  this  idea  of  Halloran' s.  Higgin- 
son  &  Company  were  going  to  buy  lumber,  were 
going  to  buy  it  below  cost — great  quantities  of  it — 
to  buy  it  secretly,  in  many  places,  under  many 
names,  at  half  the  normal  price;  they  would  sell 
it  later  at  or  above  normal.  Then  at  last  Crosman 
looked  at  Halloran  and  grinned — broadly,  happily. 
And  Halloran  said  to  himself  again : "  What  a  fool ! 
Oh,  what  a  fool!" 

There  was  much  to  be  done  that  day.  Crosman 
must  have  full  instructions  for  prompt  action; 
the  moment  Halloran' s  message  should  come  up 
from  Chicago  he  must  cross  the  lake  to  Milwaukee, 
and  from  there  command  the  Wisconsin  shore. 
Halloran  himself  would  set  the  Chicago  end  of  the 
line  in  motion.  Scattered  here  and  there  around 
the  lake  were  men  who  had  occasionally  handled 
business  for  Higginson  &  Company.  These  were 
to  be  retained,  wherever  possible,  and  set  to 
buying  in  Trust  lumber.  Everything  must  be 
done  secretly;  every  opportunity  must  be  seized. 
There  would  be  storage  to  arrange  for  in  a  dozen 
cities,  and  insurance;  there  were  a  score  and  odd 
contingencies  to  be  foreseen  and  provided  against, 
a  maximum  price  to  be  agreed  on  for  each  neces- 


i24  THE   WHIP   HAND 

sary  step.  But  the  figuring  and  the  talking  had 
an  end ;  and  when  Halloran  finally  jumped  on  the 
night  train  and  was  rolled  off  toward  Chicago  he 
felt  that  Bigelow's  flank  was  as  good  as  turned. 

There  was  one  bank  in  Chicago  with  which  Mr. 
Higginson  had  been  doing  business  for  twenty 
years.  Thither  Halloran  went,  shook  hands  with 
the  cashier  and  laid  bare  the  situation.  The 
cashier  already  knew  a  good  deal  about  the  fight, 
and  was  interested  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  his 
information. 

"What  is  it  you  plan  to  do,  Mr.  Halloran?"  he 
asked  when  they  had  talked  over  the  situation. 

"We  are  going  to  buy  lumber." 

The  cashier  inclined  his  head  to  show  that  he 
understood  perfectly. 

"We  can  buy  it  now  for  one  or  two  dollars  less 
than  it  costs  us  to  get  it  out  of  our  own  woods," 
Halloran  added. 

This  interested  the  cashier  very  much  indeed. 
Higginson  &  Company  were  good,  all  the  way 
through;  and  their  manager  seemed  to  have  a 
keen  business  sense.  Mr.  Higginson' s  sickness 
entered  his  calculations ;  but  still  the  investment 
was  sound.  The  amount  must  be  discussed  and 
one  or  two  details  mentioned.  But  it  was  after 
a  very  few  minutes  of  talk  that  the  cashier  said : 

"We  shall  be  very  glad  to  let  you  have  the 
money,  Mr.  Halloran." 


HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       125 

The  arrangements  were  soon  made.  Then  Hal- 
loran  said  good-morning  and  went  down  to  the 
telegraph  office  in  the  basement  of  the  building. 
And  as  this  short  message  hummed  over  the  wires 
to  Crosman,  "Go  ahead.  Halloran,"  he  walked 
out  into  the  street  to  begin  the  battle.  All  idle- 
ness was  over  now  for  Halloran — all  merely 
defensive  work,  all  waiting  for  results.  From 
now  on  it  was  to  be  straight-out  fighting;  and  he 
knew  that  the  best  man  would  win. 

Before  that  Saturday  afternoon  was  far  advanced 
Halloran' s  agents  were  at  work.  Their  instruc- 
tions were  simple.  "Buy  all  the  one-inch  and 
two-inch  stuff  you  can  get,  pine  and  hemlock,  in 
regular  lengths  and  widths, ' '  was  what  he  had 
said,  in  starting  them  out;  and  before  evening 
orders  had  been  placed  in  Chicago  alone  for 
nearly  a  million  feet.  The  work  would  be  pushed 
still  further  on  Monday  and  Tuesday.  Every 
company  in  the  "combine"  would  be  given  an 
opportunity  to  sell  heavily. 

Farther  up  Lake  Michigan  Crosman  was 
working  with  equal  energy.  It  was  a  chance  for 
Crosman,  an  opportunity  to  show  his  metal,  and 
he  realized  it.  There  had  been  some  pulling  at 
odds  in  the  office,  and  the  assistant  had  perhaps 
been  inclined  to  misunderstand  Halloran  in  more 
ways  than  one ;  but  all  that  was  now  swept  away, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  vigorous  work  was  in  him. 


i26  THE  WHIP   HAND 

For  the  first  time  since  the  fight  began  he  fully 
understood  it ;  he  had  been  made  to  see  that  there 
was  a  possibility  of  winning.  And  when  Halloran's 
message  reached  him  that  morning  and  he  realized 
that  no  regular  steamer  would  cross  the  lake 
before  evening,  he  hurried  a  tug  into  commission, 
and  with  Captain  Craig  and  MacGregor  to  get 
him  over  he  made  the  passage  to  Milwaukee  in 
less  than  seven  hours.  Late  as  it  was  when  he 
arrived,  he  not  only  organized  the  work  for 
Monday,  but  succeeded  in  placing  the  first  few 
orders. 

And  so  it  fell  out  that  the  reduction  in  price, 
made  solely  to  ruin  Higginson,  was  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  turned  to  his  advantage.  The 
busy  companies  that  were  scattered  about  the 
northern  shores  of  the  lake  did  not  know  this  yet — 
did  not  dream  that  they  were  crowding  extra 
shifts  of  men  into  their  mills  to  help  out  Higginson, 
that  the  logs  floating  down  a  score  of  rivers  in 
both  peninsulas  were  to  be  cut  for  Higginson, 
that  the  steamers  loading  at  a  score  of  wharves 
were  running  for  Higginson,  that  the  long  list  of 
lake  towns  from  which  had  arisen  the  heavy 
demand  for  lumber  were  buying  for  Higginson. 
They  did  not  know  these  things,  and  Halloran 
did  not  mean  that  they  should  know  them. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  knowledge  of  all  this,  and 
the  natural  elation  after  such  a  day's  work,  that 


HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       127 

between  them  took  Halloran's  actions  out  of  his 
own  hands  that  Saturday  evening.  There  were 
times  when  he  was  likely  to  surprise  himself;  this 
seemed  to  be  one  of  them.  During  these  past 
three  years  he  had  been  in  Chicago  a  number  of 
times,  but  always  only  to  transact  his  business 
and  go  directly  back  to  Wauchung,  always  heed- 
ing that  stubborn  quality  somewhere  within  him 
that  had  had  so  much  to  do  with  pulling  him  up 
from  nothing  and  pushing  him  on  in  the  world, 
that  had  kept  him  out  of  foolishness  on  at  least 
one  important  occasion.  He  had  managed,  until 
now,  to  side  with  the  stubborn  quality  against  a 
certain  impulse  that  had  occasionally  given  him 
trouble,  but  to-night  the  impulse  caught  him  off 
his  guard.  There  were  a  good  many  things  he 
might  have  done — there  were  even  one  or  two 
details  of  the  fight  still  to  be  studied  out — but  the 
impulse,  once  securely  planted  in  authority,  swept 
aside  every  other  thought.  And  so,  after  dinner, 
Halloran  caught  a  train  for  Evanston. 

An  odd  feeling  took  possession  of  him  when  he 
found  himself  once  more,  after  three  years,  on  the 
scene  of  his  struggles.  It  did  not  seem  so  long 
ago.  That  he  had  greatly  changed  he  knew; 
since  the  days  of  furnace-tending,  and  study,  and 
work  as  a  surfman,  and  all  the  other  interests  that 
had  crowded  those  earlier  years,  he  had  thrown 
himself  out  into  the  world.  He  had  come  to  know 


128  THE  WHIP   HAND 

something  of  the  joy  of  directing  men  and  events, 
of  playing  a  positive  part  in  the  life  about  him. 
He  had  come  to  love  the  fighting,  to  love  the 
play  of  fact  upon  fact  and  mind  upon  mind. 
During  the  last  year  he  had  begun  to  understand 
the  feeling  of  the  trained  swimmer  when  he 
plunges  into  deep  water.  There  was  the  exhila- 
ration, not  only  of  keeping  afloat  where  weak  men 
sink,  but  of  laying  a  course  and  following  it,  sure 
of  his  strength  and  endurance.  While  this  change 
was  taking  place  in  him  he  had  been  inclined  to 
forget  that  these  three  years  were,  after  all,  but  a 
ninth  or  tenth  part  of  his  life  so  far,  and  that  the 
other  nine-tenths  were  also  a  fact.  But  to-night, 
as  he  walked  up  toward  the  Ridge  where  the  big 
houses  stood,  he  felt  that  he  was  taking  up  his 
old  life  where  he  had  laid  it  down  that  day  when 
he  took  the  boat  for  Wauchung.  And  somehow 
he  was  not  so  sure  of  himself  as  he  had  been  when 
he  said  good-morning  to  the  cashier. 

He  was  almost  relieved  to  find  that  Miss  Davies 
and  her  mother  had  stepped  across  the  way. 
They  would  be  back  soon,  he  was  told ;  so  he  went 
in,  left  his  hat  and  coat  in  the  hall,  and  walked 
in  through  the  parlour  to  the  long  sitting-room, 
where  there  were  rows  upon  rows  of  books  and  a 
round-edged  table  covered  with  other  books  and 
with  magazines,  and  a  great  fireplace  with  a  wood 
fire  burning  to  take  the  edge  off  the  evening  air. 


HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       129 

He  sat  down  in  the  Morris  chair  by  the  table  and 
picked  up  a  book — he  had  not  had  time  to  read 
much  of  late  years.  But  after  a  moment  of 
turning  the  pages  the  book  was  lowered  to  his 
knees  and  his  eyes  looked  over  it  at  the  fire. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  he  had  laid  that  fire 
regularly  every  morning,  and  now  to  be  sitting 
here,  suddenly  conscious  that  his  life  had  taken  a 
new  direction,  that  he  was  older,  and  that  his 
clothes  were  better — that  he  was,  in  fact,  another 
person  altogether — was  odd  and  haunting,  was 
almost  disconcerting. 

He  heard  the  front  door  open.  There  was  a 
rustle  out  in  the  hall,  and  voices.  He  let  his 
head  fall  against  the  back  of  his  chair  and 
turned  his  face  toward  the  parlour  door.  He 
hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  himself;  he 
was  almost  afraid  he  had  emotions.  Cer- 
tainly a  peculiar  disturbance  was  going  on 
somewhere  within  him,  such  a  disturbance  as 
hardly  could  be  looked  for  within  the  man- 
ager of  a  lumber  company.  He  did  not  like 
it  at  all.  He  wondered  why  she  was  so  long  about 
coming  in.  Perhaps  she  would  go  on  upstairs, 
not  knowing  he  was  there;  and  that  would  be 
awkward.  Altogether,  it  was  probably  a  good 
thing  that  Halloran  had  come  out  to  Evanston 
before  the  new  life  had  succeeded  in  withdrawing 
him  finally  from  the  old,  before  the  proportion  of 


1 30  THE   WHIP   HAND 

one-tenth  to  nine-tenths  had  been  evened  up 
and  he  had  wholly  changed  into  Michigan  lumber 
—a  very  good  thing  indeed. 

She  came  in  through  the  hall  doorway  and 
paused  surprised.  He  felt  himself  rising  and 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  table  and 
the  light.  She  came  slowly  forward,  inclining 
her  head  a  little  to  get  the  light  out  of 
her  eyes  so  that  she  could  see  his  face. 
The  disturbance,  now  increasing  in  that 
strange  new  part  of  him,  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  occasion,  called  his  attention  to  her 
reserve,  to  the  something — was  it  pride?— 
that  had  disturbed  him  in  other  days;  it  taunted 
him  with  her  firm  carriage,  her  fine,  thoughtful 
face;  it  reminded  him  of  her  real  superiority,  the 
superiority  that  comes  only  from  pride  in  right 
living;  and  so  Halloran,  the  vigorous,  the  elated, 
at  the  moment  of  greeting  an  old  friend  in  her 
own  house,  was  so  far  from  equal  to  the  situation 
that  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  think  of 
nothing  but  certain  raw  facts  in  his  own 
bringing-up,  or  fighting-up,  whichever  it  might 
be  called.  And  not  a  word  did  he  say — simply 
waited. 

She  came  a  few  steps  nearer  and  hesitated. 
Then,  after  an  instant,  her  whole  expression 
changed.  Her  eyes  lighted  up  with  gladness 
so  real  that  even  he  could  not  misread  it; 


HALLORAN  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       131 

and  she  came  rapidly  forward  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"Why,  John  Halloran,"  she  cried;  "where  did 
you  come  from?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  QUESTION 

HE  took  her  hand,  and  their  eyes  met.  Until 
now  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  she,  too,  had 
changed.  Her  expression  even  was  different; 
three  years  earlier  she  had  been  living  earnestly, 
intensely — she  had  felt  the  unequal  burdens  of 
the  world  and  had  plunged  fearlessly  into  vast 
problems,  but  now  she  seemed  more  impersonal, 
more  detached. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand. 
"I  will  speak  to  mother." 

There  were  more  greetings  to  be  gone  through. 
They  sat  about  the  fire  for  awhile;  and  Halloran 
had  to  give  an  account  of  himself,  and  had  to 
listen  to  Mrs.  Davies's  open  approval  of  him. 
She  had  heard  of  him  now  and  then;  she  had 
known  from  the  first  that  he  would  get  on;  she 
was  downright  proud  of  him,  in  fact.  This  was 
something  of  an  ordeal,  and  he  felt  relieved  when 
she  withdrew  and  left  Margaret  with  him. 

The  two  stood  for  a  moment  looking  into  the 
fire ;  then  she  nodded  toward  the  Morris  chair  and 
he  dropped  into  it.  She  sat  down  on  the  other 

132 


THE   QUESTION  133 

side  of  the  table  and  propped  up  her  chin 
on  her  two  hands.  For  a  moment  they 
sat  looking  at  each  other.  Finally  they  both 
smiled. 

"  Well, "  she  observed,  "we've  been  growing  up, 
haven't  we?" 

So  she  had  remarked  it,  too. 

"Yes,  I  guess  we  have,"  he  replied.  "Rather 
more  than  I  had  thought." 

"You  didn't  expect  to  find  me  the  same  girl 
you  left  here,  did  you?" 

Halloran  gazed  moodily  into  the  fire. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  couldn't  say  just  what  I  did 
expect." 

"  But  it's  different,  anyway,  isn't  it  ?" 

He  nodded. 

"And  now  you  don't  like  it  because  you  think 
we  shall  have  to  begin  all  over  again  getting 
acquainted?" 

He  nodded  again.  Then,  looking  up,  he  was 
assured  by  her  friendly  smile.  She  slowly  shook 
her  head  at  him. 

"  That  isn't  quite  fair, "  she  went  on.  "  Here  I 
have  been  staying  right  at  home  and  doing  the 
same  things  all  these  three  years.  If  I  have 
grown  a  little  older,  I  couldn't  help  it  very  well. 
But  you  have  grown  to  be  a  business  man  with 
ever  so  many  interests,  and  I  suppose  you  are 
very  successful — anyway,  you  have  changed  so 


i34  THE   WHIP   HAND 

much  I  hardly  knew  you.  How  long  are  you 
going  to  be  here?" 

"Until  Monday  or  Tuesday." 

"You  must  come  to  dinner  to-morrow,  then. 
You'd  better  come  planning  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  day." 

"Thanks,  I  will.     How  is  George?" 

Her  face  grew  serious.  "He  has  been  giving 
me  a  good  deal  of  trouble  lately.  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  him.  He  lost  his  home,  you 
know — or  maybe  you  don't.  Have  you  heard 
the  story?" 

"No." 

"  It  is  a  strange  one.  To  begin  with,  his  sister 
Elizabeth  eloped  with  Mr.  Le  Due. " 

"Not  Apples?" 

"Yes;  they  were  married  in  St.  Joe,  and  she 
went  on  the  stage  with  him.  Jimmie  McGinnis 
is  with  them,  too.  They  call  themselves  the 
three  Le  Dues,  I  believe.  And  Mrs.  Craig  lost 
her  position.  The  Le  Dues  are  in  Chicago  now, 
at  a  cheap  theatre,  and  Mrs.  Craig  is  living  with 
them;  but  they  refused  to  take  George,  too. 
They  seem  to  grudge  her  even  the  little  they  do. 
So  George  was  turned  out  into  the  street  and  got 
into  bad  company,  and  now  he's  in  jail.  I  don't 
think  it's  as  bad  as  it  sounds.  His  companions 
are  a  good  deal  older,  and  Mr.  Babcock,  who  has 
been  looking  after  him,  says  he  will  undoubtedly 


THE  QUESTION  135 

be  released.  I  almost  wrote  you  about  it  a  little 
while  ago.'" 

"I  wish  you  had." 

"Well,"  she  hesitated,  "I  didn't  know— it  has 
been  so  long."  She  looked  up.  "To  tell  the 
truth,  I  didn't  know  whether  you  were  still 
interested." 

He  rose  and  went  over  to  the  mantel.  The 
fire  was  low  and  he  heaped  it  up  with  the  largest 
sticks  in  the  wood-box;  then  dropping  on  one 
knee  he  took  up  the  bellows  and  had  it  roaring  in  a 
moment. 

"  I  like  a  big  fire, "  he  said,  over  his  shoulder. 

She  nodded  and  let  her  eyes  rest  on  him  as  he 
worked  over  the  fire.  Yes,  he  was  a  good  deal 
older;  his  frame  had  filled  out  and  settled;  and 
in  his  manner,  too,  some  of  the  rough  edges  had 
been  rubbed  down — a  fact  she  whimsically 
regretted.  She  got  up  now  and  pushed  the  big 
chair  up  beside  the  fire  and  sat  across  from  him. 
For  a  time  they  said  nothing — he  sitting  on  a 
stool  at  one  side  of  the  hearth,  she  in  the  chair  at 
the  other;  he  applying  the  bellows  in  a  moody, 
desultory  way,  she  leaning  back  watching  first 
him  and  then  the  leaping  flames.  Finally  he  said, 
letting  the  bellows  swing  between  his  knees,  still 
keeping  his  eyes  on  the  fire : 

"Margaret!" 

She  started  a  little  and  a  quick,  almost  shy 


136  THE  WHIP   HAND 

glance  shot  from  her  eyes ;  but  he  seemed  wholly 
unconscious  that  he  had  never  directly  called 
her  by  that  name  before.  He  swung  the  bellows 
slowly  to  and  fro  like  a  pendulum. 

"What  made  you  think  I  wouldn't  be  inter- 
ested?" 

"Why — I  don't  know  that  I  meant  exactly 
that " 

He- went  on,  still  without  looking  up:  "Was 
it  anything  in  what  I  wrote  before?" 

Yes,  there  had  been  some  writing  before — 
when  he  was  first  at  Wauchung,  and  she,  eager 
for  her  little  protege  in  the  city,  had  kept  him 
informed  of  George's  progress  and  had  relied  on 
his  counsel.  And  now,  as  he  brought  that  corre- 
spondence up  in  his  mind,  and  remembered  how 
it  had  bothered  him,  how  he  had  avoided  every 
personal  reference  and  had  made  it  easy  always 
for  her  to  stop  when  she  chose,  and  how  she 
finally  had  stopped— when  he  had  these  facts 
before  him,  he  was  thankful  that  the  fire  could 
partly  explain  his  colour. 

"I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  a  very  satisfactory  corre- 
spondent, "  he  added,  "but  those  weren't  very 
satisfactory  days.  I  was  sailing  pretty  close 
then — I  had  some  college  expenses  to  pay  back, 
and  I  was  learning  the  business,  and  altogether 
I  didn't  see  much  fun  in  living.  If  you  have 
thought  of  me  since  as  the  same  sort  of  fellow  I 


APPLES 


THE   QUESTION  137 

was  then,  I  don't  blame  you  for  not  wanting  to 
write." 

He  looked  up  at  her  for  a  reply;  but 
she  only  smiled  a  little  and  slowly  shook  'her 
head. 

And  so  they  talked  on,  these  two,  for  a  long 
time;  they  drifted  on  into  a  dreamy,  personal 
mood — into  a  land  where  only  common  interests 
could  get  a  footing,  where  there  was  no  clock — 
nothing  but  the  red  flames,  and  the  dim  rows  of 
books,  and  the  hushed  house,  and  themselves. 
They  forgot  to-night  those  three  years  of  diver- 
gence— forgot  that  there  was  one  set  of  facts  cen- 
tring about  the  Michigan  lumberman  and  another 
about  Margaret.  To  Halloran  all  of  life  had 
slipped  away  except  that  dreamy  figure  in  the 
Morris  chair,  with  the  late  red  glow  of  the  fire  on 
her  face  and  on  her  hair.  Her  eyes  were  half 
closed,  and  she  turned  them  toward  him  now  and 
then  without  moving  her  head.  A  smile  hovered 
on  her  face — now  on  her  lips,  if  he  spoke  to  her — 
at  other  times  flitting  about  her  eyes.  Her 
hands  lay  motionless  on  the  arms  of  'the  chair. 
To  both  of  them  it  was  a  rich  glad  time,  so  glad 
that  it  could  best  be  explained  by  silence,  tem- 
pered only  at  intervals  by  low  voices ;  so  rich  that 
it  poured  its  warmth  into  their  very  souls  and 
quieted  them,  and  gave  them  to  know  that  such 
high  moments  are  rare,  that  they  must  be  con- 


138  THE  WHIP   HAND 

served  and  guarded,  must  be  lived  through 
reverently. 

He  looked  at  her  shyly  at  first,  with  stolen 
glances,  until  in  some  silent  way  she  gave  him  her 
permission;  and  then  he  looked  long,  not  from 
his  eyes  alone,  but  from  the  new  self  within  him 
which  had  risen  almost  to  equality  with  that  other 
self  of  hers.  He  knew  this  now — knew  it  to  be 
gloriously  true;  and  he  felt  a  defiance  of  all  life, 
of  all  the  pressing  facts  and  things  that  had 
crowded  into  his  existence,  a  defiance,  a  con- 
sciousness of  self  that  thrilled  him  with  its  reality. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  knew  that  those 
solid  things  were  not  real.  And  his  soul  was 
awed  and  humbled. 

And  she  looked  at  him — shyly  always,  yet 
conscious  of  what  she  was  too  honest  to  deny. 
And  the  occasional  pressure  of  her  sensitive  mouth, 
the  twitch  of  her  eyelid  as  the  light  wavered  over 
it,  were  not  needed  to  show  him  that  she,  too,  was 
wholly  given  up  to  the  reality — that  her  life  was 
gathered  up  to-night,  with  his,  into  one  full  hour 
of  happiness. 

Into  this  Arden  came  the  distant  whistle  of  a 
locomotive.  Her  eyes  sought  his,  and  at  the 
expression  they  found  there  she  shook  her  head. 

"That  is  going  the  other  way, "  she  said  softly. 

"  I'm  sorry" — he  looked  at  his  watch — "  I  have 
just  time  for  the  last  train. " 


THE   QUESTION  139 

He  rose  and  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  fire. 
Then  he  came  over  and  leaned  on  the  back  of  the 
chair  and  reached  down  and  raised  her  hand  in 
his.  She  almost  shivered  at  his  touch,  but  he 
held  it  firmly;  and  after  a  moment,  in  which  the 
blood  seemed  to  leave  her  face,  her  fingers  closed 
on  his  and  clasped  them  tightly. 

And  then  he  forgot  all  about  the  last  train.  He 
knew  that  the  impulse  that  he  had  feared  so  long 
had  at  last  mastered  him,  and  he  was  wildly, 
exultantly  glad.  He  slipped  down  on  the  broad 
arm  of  the  chair  and  held  her  hand  on  his  knee, 
and  looked  down  at  her  hair;  whilst  she,  still 
with  that  occasional  compression  of  the  lips,  gazed 
into  the  fire.  For  her,  too,  everything  had 
slipped  into  oblivion — everything  but  the  red,  red 
glow  of  the  dying  fire  and  the  clasp  of  his  hand 
in  hers  and  the  touch  of  his  other  hand  on  her  hair. 
There  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  for  her 
to-night ;  and  her  happiness  was  so  poignant  that 
she  felt  herself  swept  blindly  along  with  him, 
past  all  the  obstacles  of  convention,  of  small 
misunderstandings,  of  outside  interests,  on 
up  to  heights  that  had  never  before  during  her 
quiet  lifetime  even  entered  her  imagination.  At 
moments  her  fingers  would  tighten  on  his  and 
strange,  happy  tears  would  fill  her  eyes,  to  be 
kept  back  only  by  an  effort.  Once  she  could  not 
keep  them  back;  and  he  looked  down  and  saw 


1 40  THE   WHIP   HAND 

them  on  her  cheek,  and  she  did  not  care.  Tears 
were  trivial,  now  that  her  soul  was  laid  bare  to 
him. 

At  another  time  she  spoke  so  softly  that  he 
could  not  hear,  and  he  bent  down  his  head. 

"You  are  not  going  to  try  to  get  back  to  the 
city?"  she  repeated,  in  a  voice  from  which  all 
strength,  all  the  body  had  gone. 

"  No — I'm  going  down  to  the  hotel. " 

Her  clasp  tightened  again  by  way  of  reply. 

And  so  the  wild,  sweet  message  came  to  this 
man  and  this  young  woman.  It  told  them  how 
deeply  those  earlier  years  of  friendship  had 
entered  their  natures ;  it  let  them  know  how  much 
stronger  it  was  than  will  or  habit — how  it  had 
chained  their  two  lives  so  firmly  together  that 
only  a  few  moments  had  been  needed  to-night 
to  show  it  plainly  to  them  both.  A  look  of  the 
eye,  a  tone  in  the  voice,  and  it  was  done.  From 
that  moment  their  lives  had  changed ;  and  where- 
ever  the  new  current  might  lead  them,  whatever 
might  be  waiting  in  the  dim,  luminous  years 
beyond,  the  new  fact  must  control  their  thoughts. 
The  old  days  were  gone ;  the  new  had  begun. 

Was  it  strange  that  he  should  think  of  this,  that 
the  meaning  of  it  all  should  flash  through  his 
mind;  whilst  she,  with  her  sensitive  nature 
wholly  bound  up  in  this  moment,  should  be 
thinking  of  nothing,  should  be  conscious  of  noth- 


THE   QUESTION  141 

ing,  save  that  he  was  here?  Was  this  strange? 
Her  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  embers;  she 
seemed  unable  to  raise  them  to  his.  In  all  her 
life  she  had  never  before  given  up.  Her  impulses 
had  never  before  swept  her  reason  from  its  seat 
and  held  her,  trembling  and  amazed,  in  their 
grip.  It  was  new  and  wonderful  to  her. 

"  Margaret, "  he  said,  in  the  low  voice  that 
expressed  the  most,  "  dare  I  look  at  my  watch  ? " 

She  smiled  and  tightly  held  his  hand. 

"No?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

He  caught  up  a  lock  of  her  hair  and  held  it 
against  the  light.  It  glistened  like  fine-spun 
gold.  He  leaned  down  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips; 
and  again  he  felt  that  tightening  of  her  fingers, 
that  slight  shiver  passing  through  her.  He  bent 
forward  and  saw  that  the  tears  had  escaped  again. 

"Margaret,"  he  whispered,  "look  up." 

Her  eyes  lifted  a  little,  then  dropped.  He 
waited  and  then  whispered  again,  "Look  up, 
dear."  Slowly  she  raised  them  until  they  met 
his  fairly,  and  their  two  souls  were  gazing  straight, 
each  to  each.  -Her  fingers  tightened  and 
tightened;  she  was  trembling.  And  at  last 
he  caught  her  wildly  with  both  his  arms  and 
drew  her  against  him  and  kissed  her  forehead, 
her  eyes,  her  mouth.  And  her  tears  fell  with- 
out restraint. 


i42  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Dear  girl,"  he  whispered,  his  mouth  close  to 
her  ear,  "  Dear  girl,  you  love  me — I  know  you  love 
me.  I  have  waited — it  is  a  long  while  that  I  have 
waited — but  all  the  waiting  is  over  now.  Tell 
me  that  it  is  all  over — that  we  are  going  to  begin 
our  lives — our  life — new  again.  Tell  me  that  we 
are  going  to  be  happy. " 

There  was  a  moment  during  which  she  struggled 
to  free  herself.  "Don't,  oh,  don't!"  she  cried 
brokenly.  "Please  stop,  John!"  And  he,  hurt 
and  wondering,  released  her,  and  stood  up, 
watching  her  stupidly  as  she  fell  back  in  the  chair 
and  covered  her  eyes. 

Poor  Halloran !  He  had  been  supposing  that 
he  understood  her — that  he  really  could  see  a  little 
way  into  that  complex  nature.  And  the  dis- 
covery that  he  was  still  far  on  the  outside  of  her 
personality  brought  a  cruel  shock.  He  could  not 
know  that  while  his  thoughts  had  rambled  ahead, 
constructing  their  life,  hers  had  been  absorbed 
in  the  happiness  of  that  one  golden  hour.  He 
could  not  understand  how  his  words,  and  the 
realization  of  what  this  evening  meant  to  them 
both,  had  burst  upon  her  with  a  force  that 
frightened  her.  He  could  not  be  expected  to 
know  what  a  struggle  had  come  with  this  first 
open  thought  of  giving  herself  up  to  a  man— 
what  questions  it  raised,  what  problems  of  wholly 
reconstructing  a  life;  how  the  great  question 


THE  QUESTION  143 

loomed  before  her  in  dimensions  that  seemed 
almost  tragic.  He  could  not  understand  this; 
and  so,  when  he  finally  spoke,  it  was  with  a  touch 
of  quiet  dignity 

''Margaret,"  he  said,  "I  have  asked  you  to  be 
my  wife."  There  was  a  more  and  more  appeal- 
ing quality  in  his  voice  as  he  went  on.  "  I  have 
asked  you  to  be  my  wife.  Can't  you  give  me 
your  answer?" 

She  shook  her  head  without  uncovering  her 
eyes. 

"  Shall  I  come  for  it  to-morrow,  then,  Margaret  ? 
I  think  I  have  told  you  everything.  You  know 
that  I  love  you.  I  can't  live  without  you — I 
dread  even  to  think  of  waiting.  It  means  so 
much  to  me,  Margaret,  so  very  much,  that  I 
don' t  know ' ' 

He  paused,  for  his  voice  was  beginning  to  shake 
a  little.  Still  she  was  silent. 

"  Have  you" — it  was  getting  difficult  to  speak — 
"  have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  ? " 

"Oh,  John,"  she  managed  to  say,  "I'm  sorry! 
I'm  so  sorry !" 

" Is— is  that  all,  Margaret?" 

"You  must  not  come  to-morrow — I  can't  let 
you." 

"A  week,  then,  Margaret? — a — a  month?" 

"I  don't  know — you  must  not  stay." 

He  waited  a  little,  then  walked  slowly  to  the 


i44  THE  WHIP   HAND 

hall.  When  he  had  his  coat  nearly  on  she  came 
to  the  doorway.  He  waited  again,  hat  in  hand. 

"Good — good-night,"  she  said. 

uls  that " 

She  shook  her  head  nervously,  hurriedly,  and 
he  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 

And  when  he  had  gone,  when  his  last  step  had 
died  away  in  the  still  air,  she  sank  down  on  the 
stairs  and  sobbed,  trembling  in  the  power  of  this 
passion.  What  had  she  done !  What  had  she 
done  !  Her  thoughts  ranged  madly.  She  thought 
of  the  three  years  of  divergence;  of  his  habits,  of 
hers ;  of  all  the  things,  great  and  trivial,  that  bore 
on  the  question ;  she  tried  to  remember  what  had 
happened  this  night,  and  could  not.  She  only 
knew  that  this  strange  power  had  mastered  her; 
and  she  was  afraid  of  it  and  of  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 
ONE  EVENING 

MR.  BIGELOW  sat  in  the  chair:  behind  and 
around  him  were  the  speakers  of  the  evening, 
grouped  with  the  Committee  of  the  Society  of 
the  Preservation  of  the  Home ;  before  him  extended 
rows  upon  rows  of  citizens,  all  of  them  vigorously 
applauding  the  last  speaker,  all  of  them,  without 
regard  to  private  cellars,  bent  upon  stamping  out 
the  saloon  evil  in  their  suburb. 

An  usher  mounted  the  platform  and  laid  a 
folded  slip  of  paper  on  the  table.  The  Chairman 
unfolded  it,  read  it  with  great  composure,  and 
inclined  his  head  to  signify  an  affirmative  reply. 
This  was  the  note: 

"MR.  G.  HYDE  BIGELOW. 

"Dear  Sir:  May  I  see  you  for  a  few  moments 
after  the  meeting,  on  business  of  great  importance. 

"APPLETON  LE  Due." 

"Probably  a  reporter,"  thought  the  Chairman. 
A  draft  of  his  opening  speech  lay  in  his  inside 

145 


146  THE  WHIP   HAND 

pocket,  and  if  this  man  was  attached  to  a  reputable 
paper  he  would  be  welcome  to  it.  Mr.  Bigelow 
made  it  an  invariable  rule  to  be  courteous  to 
newspaper  men. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  therefore,  as  he 
was  donning  his  coat,  the  usher  touched  him  on 
the  arm. 

"This  is  the  man  who  wished  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Bigelow." 

The  Chairman  turned  and  beheld  a  tall,  thin 
individual,  with  a  long  face,  wearing  somewhat 
conspicuous  clothes. 

"How  do  you  do,"  he  said,  in  a  genial  tone, 
extending  his  hand. 

The  thin  man  took  it  and  glanced  sharply  at 
Mr.  Bigelow — a  glance  full  of  curious  interest. 
A  change  had  been  taking  place  in  Apples  since 
we  last  saw  him.  Evidently  the  care  of  his  wife 
and  his  wife's  mother,  and  the  prospect  of  a  visit 
from  the  stork  at  once  reducing  the  family  income 
and  materially  increasing  the  outgo,  had  quieted 
the  effervescence  of  his  youth  and  set  him 
thinking. 

"If  you  have  no  objection,"  said  Le  Due,  "I 
will  walk  along  with  you." 

"None  whatever,"  replied  Mr.  Bigelow. 

They  walked  together  out  of  the  building  and 
followed  that  part  of  the  crowd  which  had  turned 
westward. 


ONE  EVENING  147 

"Well,  sir,"  observed  the  Chairman,  "what 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

Le  Due  answered  in  a  low,  even  voice — a  voice 
which,  if  it  showed  embarrassment  and  effort, 
showed  also  determination. 

"You  were  formerly  married,  I  believe,  to  a 
woman  who  is  now  known  as  Mrs.  Craig. " 

Dwelling,  as  it  had  been,  on  the  plaudits,  the 
hearty  enthusiasms  of  the  evening,  on  the  written 
speech  reposing  in  an  inside  pocket,  Mr.  Bigelow's 
mind  came  to  earth  with  a  shock.  He  stopped 
abruptly,  threw  a  quick  look  at  the  thin  man, 
and  then,  recalling  that  the  sidewalk  was  still 
covered  with  people,  he  moved  on. 

"Have  you  come  here  to  discuss  my  private 
affairs?"  he  said  brusquely. 

"In  a  sense,  yes.  The  matter  has  been  put 
into  my  hands,  and  I  thought  the  most  satisfac- 
tory thing  would  be  to  come  out  here  and  talk 
to  you.  Of  course,  if  you'd  rather  I'd  see  some- 
body else,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me. " 

Mr.  Bigelow  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Le  Due 
glanced  sideways  at  him  as  they  passed  under  a 
corner  light,  and  was  glad  to  observe  that  he  had 
penetrated  the  man's  armour. 

"Are  you  a  lawyer?"  was  the  Chairman's 
abrupt  question. 

"No,  sir." 

"In  what  capacity  have  you  come  here?" 


148  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Why,  you  see,  Lizzie,  Mrs.  Craig's  daughter, 
is  my  wife." 

Mr.  Bigelow's  reply  was  a  half -audible  grunt. 

"Mrs.  Craig,  you  understand,  is  really  suffering. 
She  has  no  income  and  we  have  been  keeping  her 
with  us ;  but  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  do  much 
for  her — not  as  much  as  I  should  like. " 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ? " 

"  I  believe — that  you  agreed  to  support  her. " 

"Well,  how  much  do  you  want?" 

"That  isn't  it,  you  see."  Somewhat  eagerly 
this.  "  It  wasn't  only  that  you  agreed  to  support 
her,  but  the  courts  decided  that  you  should.  So 
it  isn't  a  question  of  what  you  might  offer  or  me 
accept,  but  of  how  much  is  owing  on  past  years.  I 
think  I  can  understand  it — I  suppose  a  man  gets 
tired  of  paying  out  money  he  doesn't  get  any 
return  for — and  of  course  it's  been  a  good  many 
years— 

"Never  mind  about  that." 

"Well — you  see — I've  thought  there  was  some 
misunderstanding  about  the  business.  She  says 
you  told  her  to  go  to  law  if  she  wanted  to,  but  I 
thought  she  must  have  misunderstood  you.  Of 
course,  she  could,  you  know,  but  her  case  is  very 
good,  I  think.  It  would  be  expensive  all  'round ; 
and  it  mightn't  be  pleasant." 

Very  true,  Apples.  It  might  be  decidedly 
unpleasant,  now  that  a  voluble  young  man, 


ONE   EVENING  149 

with  apparently  no  regard  for  the  proprieties, 
has  sprung  up  from  nowhere  to  push  matters. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ? " 

"I've  talked  it  all  over  with  Mrs.  Craig  and 
she  has  told  me  just  how  things  stand.  She 
has  kept  a  pretty  regular  account  of  everything; 
and  she  figures  it  out  about  like  this.  There  were 
five  years,  nearly  five,  anyhow — wre  don't  want 
to  quibble  over  that — when  she  was  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  paid  up.  Since  then  there  haven't 
been  any  regular  payments,  except  about  five 
hundred  dollars  that's  been  given  her  in  small 
sums.  It  was  to  be  a  thousand  dollars  a  year,  I 
believe.  Five  thousand  five  hundred  from  seven- 
teen thousand  leaves  eleven  thousand  five 
hundred  still  due  her — call  it  an  even  eleven 
thousand." 

"You  say  you  are  not  a  lawyer?" 

"No,  sir." 

"What  is  your  business?" 

"I'm— I'm  an  actor." 

"Where  do  you  play?" 

"On  the  North  Side." 

"What  can  you  earn?" 

"Well,  the  three  of  us — we  are  the  three 
Le  Dues,  you  know — my  wife  and  I,  and  Elmer, 
can  get  sixty  a  week  for  our  turn." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  a  son  old 
enough  to  play  with  you?" 


150  THE  WHIP  HAND 

1  'Oh,  no,  no — we  only  call  him  Elmer  Le  Due. 
We  haven't  been  married  so  long  as  that. 
But—  However,  this  was  not  business,  and 

he  checked  the  confidence  that  was  never 
far  from  the  end  of  his  tongue  nowadays. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  on  the  stage  ? " 

"Nearly  three  years." 

"  What  did  you  do  before  that?" 

"I  was  at  college." 

"What  college?" 

"Here,   in  Evanston. " 

"So?" 

They  were  now  standing  in  front  of  the  wide 
grounds  of  G.  Hyde  Bigelow.  Peeping  out  from 
its  screen  of  trees,  far  back  behind  the  spacious 
lawn,  could  be  seen  the  granite  turrets  of  Mr. 
Bigelow' s  new  house.  The  owner  turned  toward 
them  as  he  reflected. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  do,  Mr. — Mr. — 

"Le  Due." 

"Mr.  Le  Due.  You  come  to  my  office 
to-morrow  at  eleven.  I  think  that  by  that 
time  I  will  have  a  proposition  that  will 
interest  you.  Meantime,  suppose  we  let  this 
matter  stand  just  where  it  is  now.  Is  that 
satisfactory  ? " 

"  Why — certainly ;  perfectly  so. " 

"Very  well,  I  shall  look  for  you  to-morrow  at 
eleven.  Good-night." 


ONE  EVENING  151 

"Maybe  I  had  better  leave  one  of  my  cards 
with  you,  sir." 

"Very  well.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night." 

Mr.  Bigelow  turned  into  the  grounds  and 
disappeared  among  the  trees,  and  Apples,  bubbling 
with  self-congratulations,  hurried  over  to  the 
trolley  line. 

•  •»••»•• 

Margaret  was  tired  to-night.  She  was  glad  to 
be  at  home;  and  she  threw  herself  on  the  library 
couch  to  rest  for  an  hour  while  she  awaited  the 
final  report  of  the  day's  labours.  For  George 
had  been  released  from  jail,  thanks  to  the  benevo- 
lence of  the  judge — himself  a  suburbanite — and 
to  the  clearness  of  the  facts.  It  had  called  for 
very  little  effort  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Babcock,  who 
had  taken  the  case  on  his  own  shoulders,  to  make 
plain  that  George  had  been  merely  the  cat's-paw 
of  a  gang  of  roughs.  And  now  Mrs.  Bigelow  had 
promised  Mr.  Babcock  that  she  would  take  in  the 
boy  and  give  him  work  about  the  house;  so 
that  apparently  he  was  at  last  to  have  a  start. 

At  length  Mr.  Babcock  himself  came  in.  He 
was  almost  jaunty  this  evening ;  and  his  voice  was 
pitched  higher  than  usual. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Davies?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Here  I  am  with  my  report." 

"You  brought  him  out,  did  you?" 


152  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Yes.  Mrs.  Bigelow  has  him  and  promises  to 
take  the  best  of  care  of  him.  He  seems  a  likely 
boy — unfortunate  he  wasn't  better  brought  up. 
But  of  course  he  may  take  a  brace — such  things 
have  happened. " 

"You  know  I  have  faith  in  George,"  said 
Margaret  warmly. 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  hope  you're  right.  Maybe 
you  are.  He'll  be  kept  busy  for  awhile  anyway, 
learning  to  groom  the  horses  and  milk  the  cows. 
That'll  be  good  for  him.  Queer  case,  isn't  it. 
Quite  like  a  story.  It  has  interested  me  im- 
mensely. Been  a  queer  sort  of  day  all  around 
for  me.  If  every  day  was  like  it  I'd  never  get 
any  business  done.  Came  right  in  a  busy 
season,  too.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  about  the  boy. 
That  was  because  you  were  interested  in  him. 
I'd  do  as  much  any  time  you  asked  it — do  it 
gladly.  But  I  ran  across  Myers  while  I  was 
over  at  the  court  building.  He  is  going  West, 
you  know,  for  his  wife's  health,  and  wants  to 
sell  his  house.  You  know  it,  don't  you? — over 
on  the  Lake  Front.  He  wants  to  sell  bad  and 
offers  the  place  for  next  to  nothing,  so  I  promised 
him  I'd  stroll  down  there  to-night  and  have  a 
look  at  it.  How  would  you  like  to  go  along? 
Your  taste's  rather  better  than  mine,  I  think." 

" Why— isn't  it  a  little  late?"  He  had  never 
talked  like  this  before;  she  was  puzzled. 


ONE   EVENING  153 

"No — not  so  very — about  nine.  But  I  see 
you're  tired,  so  don't  think  of  it.  Tell  you  what 
I'll  do — I'll  get  him  to  let  me  have  the  plans,  and 
we'll  look  them  over  together,  and  you  tell  me 
how  they  strike  you.  If  it  is  in  as  good  shape  as 
I  think  I  believe  I'll  buy — that  is,  if  I  can  get  a 
clear  title." 

"It  is  very  attractive  along  the  shore." 

"That's  the  way  it  strikes  me.  And  with 
good  horses  you'd  hardly  mind  the  distance. 
He  says  his  library  is  finished  in  rose  tints  and 
Flemish  oak.  How  does  that  sound  ?" 

"Very  pretty,  I  should  think." 

"Yes,  doesn't  it?  So  you  really  like  the  idea? 
I'm  glad  of  that.  You're  the  one  I  care  most 
about  pleasing."  He  rose  and  looked  down  at 
her.  "There's  no  use  telling  me  you  aren't  tired: 
I  can  see  it.  You've  worked  like  a  good  one 
to-day,  and  I'm  going  to  let  you  get  a  little  rest. " 

She  rose. 

"I'll  bring  up  the  plans  sometime  before 
Sunday,  and  we'll  go  over  them  and  see  what  we 
make  of  it.  Good-night. " 

She  smiled  wearily  and  stood  there  until  he  had 
left  the  house;  then  she  went  upstairs  and  into 
Mrs.  Davies's  room. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  with  an  odd  little  smile, 
"I  want  to  go  away." 

"Where,  child?" 


154  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"I  don't  know — East,  perhaps." 

Mrs.  Davies  looked  quietly  up  from  her  knitting. 
"'How  long  have  you  been  thinking  of  this?"  she 
asked. 

"  Not  very  long — just  to-day. " 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  that 
same  quiet  way — Margaret  still  smiling,  but  with  a 
suspicious  shine  in  her  eyes.  Then  suddenly  she 
came  over,  slipped  to  the  floor,  and  buried  her 
face  on  her  arms  in  her  mother's  lap. 

After  a  long  silence  Mrs.  Davies  asked: 

"When  would  you  like  to  go,  dear?"  There 
was  no  reply.  "Very  soon?"  Margaret  raised 
her  head  a  little  way  and  was  apparently  about 
to  speak,  then  lowered  it  again.  "Would  you 
like  to  go  this  week?"  Still  there  was  silence. 
But  Mrs.  Davies  seemed  to  understand.  "We 
might  get  away  by  Thursday  or  Friday,  dearie, 
if  you  can  get  ready.  Can  you?" 

And  Margaret  murmured,  without  looking  up: 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !    I  can  be  ready  to-morrow. " 


CHAPTER  X 
A  LETTER 

As  time  went  by  the  wisdom  of  Halloran's 
method  of  buying  lumber  became  apparent.  If 
the  orders  had  not  gone  in  almost  simultaneously 
to  the  offices  of  the  different  companies  the 
directors  would  probably  have  put  their  heads 
together  and  declined  meeting  such  an  unusually 
heavy  demand.  As  it  fell  out,  however,  when 
the  heads  did  finally  go  together,  it  was  discovered 
that  the  mischief  had  been  done,  that  nearly  six 
million  feet  of  lumber  had  been  sold,  in  thirty  or 
forty  different  lots,  and  for  about  $50,000  less 
than  it  would  have  brought  at  the  normal  rates. 
The  possibility  of  speculators  buying  in  the 
lumber  had  been  discussed  from  the  first ;  but  the 
directors  had  not  dreamed  that  such  a  movement 
could  be  actually  completed  before  they  could 
know  it  was  going  on.  And  then  they  found  that 
each  of  the  twenty  odd  companies  had  been 
pledged  to  these  orders  through  its  own  authorized 
agents.  Even  now,  after  the  door  had  been 
closed  on  an  empty  stable,  it  was  not  plain  what 
per  cent,  of  the  sales  had  gone  to  speculators; 

155 


156  THE   WHIP   HAND 

for  nearly  every  order  had  come  from  a  regular 
dealer  in  one  of  a  score  of  different  cities  and 
towns. 

Halloran  soon  found  it  difficult  to  buy,  except 
in  occasional  small  lots.  His  instructions  to  his 
agents  still  held  good,  however;  and  he  hoped 
to  increase  his  stock  until  he  should  have  enough 
on  hand  to  make  good  all  the  losses  resulting  from 
the  fight.  That  was  his  idea — to  make  Bigelow 
pay  the  bills.  Once  this  point  was  reached  he 
would  show  his  hand  by  bringing  all  the  lumber 
to  Wauchung. 

At  this  stage  of  the  fight  there  was  a  pause.  On 
one  hand  Halloran's  countermove  was  practically 
ended;  on  the  other,  the  Bigelow  forces  appeared 
as  determined  as  ever  to  keep  down  prices  and 
force  Higginson  out  of  business.  Rumours  were 
floating  now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  that  there  was 
trouble  in  Kentucky  Coal,  but  there  was  nothing 
at  all  definite. 

One  morning  in  the  office — a  nearly  idle  morn- 
ing, as  came  about  frequently  now — Crosman 
remarked  casually  over  his  paper : 

"There's  a  big  fight  on  in  corn  on  the  Board  of 
Trade." 

"Something  new,  eh?" 

"  Yes.  It  seems  the  secret  has  just  leaked  out. 
A  man  named  Le  Due " 

"LeDuc!" 


A  LETTER  157 

"  Yes — Appleton  Le  Due — sounds  like  a  French- 
man, doesn't  it?" 

Halloran  left  his  chair  and  came  over  to  Cros- 
man's  side. 

" Excuse  me,"  he  said.     "May  I  see  it?" 

"Certainly;  take  it,  if  you  like.  I'm  through 
with  it.  It's  a  queer  story."  He  went  on  talk- 
ing while  Halloran  was  reading.  "  It  seems  he's 
a  new  man  at  the  business,  but  they're  calling  him 
the  new  Corn  King  already.  They  say  he  shows 
a  regular  genius  for  it.  It  looks  as  if  he  was  going 
to  corner  the  market.  The  paper  says  he  used 
to  be  an  actor." 

Halloran  laid  down  the  paper  and  perched  him- 
self on  the  corner  of  Crosman's  flat-top  desk. 

"That's  queer  business,"  he  observed.  "The 
last  time  I  heard  of  Apples  he  was  playing  at  a 
third-class  variety  house." 

"Friend  of  yours?" 

"I  knew  him  in  college.  If  the  paper  weren't 
so  sure  about  it,  I'd  say  it  was  a  mistake.  He 
never  did  it  himself — he  hasn't  any  money,  to 
begin  with.  Somebody's  using  him  for  a  cat's- 
paw,  plain  enough;  but  I'd  like  to  know  how  the 
Moses  he  ever  got  hold  of  a  snap  like  that?" 
Halloran  shook  his  head  over  it.  "Do  you  ever 
read  Mark  Twain?" 

*  *  I    have — some . ' ' 

"Do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  bad  little 


158  THE  WHIP  HAND 

boy  that  got  rich  and  went  to  Congress,  and  died 
universally  respected  ? ' ' 

" Never  read  that." 

"Well,  it  makes  me  think  of  Apples.  The 
two  poorest  skates  we  had  in  college  are  turning 
out  about  the  same  way.  The  other  fellow  was 
a  lazy  beggar  from  down  in  Indiana.  Came  up 
to  college  to  play  baseball,  but  he  didn't  have 
grit  enough  to  make  the  team.  He  never  got 
anywhere  in  his  work — spent  three  years  in  his 
fourth  year  Academy,  I  believe,  before  he  gave  it 
up.  And  no  one  ever  knew  how  he  lived.  But 
one  of  the  directors  of  a  big  steel  company  used 
to  live  out  there,  and  this  fellow  scraped  up  money 
enough  to  buy  a  dress  suit  and  join  the  local  club, 
a.nd  took  to  playing  billiards  and  drinking  with 
the  director's  son,  and  finally  got  invited  around 
to  meet  the  family.  Now  he's  the  assistant 
secretary  of  the  steel  company,  and  has  an- 
nounced his  engagement  to  the  director's  daughter. 
Enough  to  make  you  wonder  a  little  some- 
times, isn't  it?" 

The  office  door  opened,  just  then,  so  abruptly 
that  they  both  started.  Looking  up,  they  saw 
Captain  Craig  standing  in  the  doorway,  hatless, 
holding  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  He  looked 
straight  at  Halloran  as  if  he  saw  nothing  else  in 
the  office. 

"  I  want  to  see  you, "  he  said. 


A  LETTER  159 

At  the  odd  sound  of  his  voice,  Crosman  got  up 
without  a  word  and  brushed  by  him  into  the  outer 
office,  gently  pushing  the  door  to  behind  him. 

"Sit  down,  Captain,"  said  Halloran. 

The  Captain  took  the  chair  by  the  desk. 

"I  went  up  to  the  house  to  see  the  Old 
Gentleman,  but  they  wouldn't  let  me  in." 

"No;  he  is  not  allowed  to  see  anybody.  Will 
I  do?" 

Craig  seemed  not  to  hear  the  reply.  "  I  got 
a  letter  just  now — and  I  wondered  if  I  couldn't 
get  away  for  a  little  while — I  guess  I  won't  be 
needed  on  the  steamer?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"I  got  a  letter  .this  morning — I  didn't  know  as 
I  read  it  straight — I  haven't  got  my  glasses  with 
me—  It  seemed  difficult  for  him  to  speak 

naturally,  and  he  paused,  staring  at  a  glass 
paper-weight  on  the  desk.  His  seamed,  harsh  old 
face  was  working.  "My  God!  Mr.  Halloran," 
he  broke  out,  "  I  don't  hardly  dare  believe  it ! 
Here,  read  it." 

Halloran  took  the  letter  and  read  what  follows  : 

"Father:  I  have  waited  a  long,  long  time,  and 
now  I'm  tired  and  I  want  to  come  home.  You 
were  right  always — it  was  all  a  mistake.  Now 
when  I  look  back  there  are  some  parts  of  it 
that  are  like  dreams  to  me.  Do  you  think  you 


160  THE   WHIP   HAND 

could  forgive  me?  Do  you  think  you  could  let 
me  come  back  and  take  care  of  your  house  for 
you? 

"  I  was  all  wrong,  but  I  am  older  now — I  have  a 
girl  of  my  own  who  has  grown  up  and  married — and 
I  think  I  could  understand  better.  I  can  imagine 
better,  too,  how  you  have  suffered — how  I  have 
made  you  suffer — and  now  that  there  are  times 
when  my  life  seems  clouded  and  unreal — some  days 
and  weeks  even,  when  I  look  back  I  can  hardly 
remember  what  I  have  said  or  done,  or  how  I 
have  lived — when  I  think  of  this,  and  think  how 
my  life  seems  to  be  slipping  away  from  me,  a 
little  at  a  time,  I  feel  that  I  just  must  come 
back  to  you.  Of  course,  nothing  can  be  undone, 
nothing  can  be  lived  over.  I  know  that  bitterly 
now — I  feel  it  all  the  time,  and  especially  at 
night  when  I  lie  awake  and  all  these  years  come 
whirling  up  in  my  mind  and  confuse  me  and 
discourage  me.  But  I  have  tried  not  to  grow 
bitter.  I  have  been  hungry  a  good  many  times, 
and  cold,  and  haven't  had  much  to  wear,  but  I 
have  tried  always  to  remember  that  the  only  way 
out  is  just  the  patient,  honest  way. 

"  There  may  not  be  many  years  left  to  us,  but 
wouldn't  it  be  better  to  try  to  make  them  happy 
years?  You  see  I'm  writing  as  if  I  felt  you  had 
already  forgiven  me — I  can't  help  it. 

"  Elizabeth  is  married,  as  I  told  you,  and  hasn't 


A   LETTER  161 

room  for  me  any  more.  But,  George  is  not  a  bad 
boy — you  will  like  George,  father,  I  know.  And 
perhaps  he  will  grow  up  into  something  better 
than  I  and  make  you  feel  yet  that  it  was  worth 
while. 

"It  is  nineteen  years  to-day  since  you  brought 
me  down  here  on  the  old  Number  One — do  you 
remember?  I  have  never  forgotten  how  you 
looked  when  you  stood  on  the  bridge  and  waved 
good-by.  Well,  my  married  life  was  not  what 
I  thought  it  would  be,  but  somehow  now,  while 
I  am  writing  this,  it  seems  almost  as  if  I  could 
cut  this  long  part  of  my  life  right  out,  and  take 
up  the  first  part  again  where  I  left  it  off  that 
day.  You  will  find  me  changed — I  am  getting 
to  be  quite  an  old  woman — if  all  goes  well,  I  may 
be  a  grandmother  before  the  year  is  gone.  Think 
of  that ! 

"Oh,  father,  I  don't  know  what  I  am  thinking 
of  to  be  writing  like  this,  when  I  ought  to  be  down 
on  my  knees  to  you.  But  I  can't  help  it.  Can 
you  forgive  me,  and  let  me  begin  again? 

"JENNIE  CRAIG." 

Halloran  gazed  at  the  letter  until  the  silence 
grew  oppressive  and  then  he  looked  out  the 
window.  Craig  was  still  staring  at  the  paper- 
weight ;  and  when  he  finally  spoke  it  was  without 
shifting  his  eyes. 


i6a  THE   WHIP   HAND 

"She  was  only  eighteen  when  she  went  down 
to  Chicago  to  work  for  Bigelow.  She  didn't 
know  any  better — G.  Hyde  Bigelow  wasn't  above 
marrying  his  clerk  in  those  days.  And  then  she 
found  him  out  and  got  a  divorce;  and  I've  never 
heard  since,  until  to-day.  I  guess — I  guess  there's 
a  little  pride  in  our  family — she's  never  written— 
and  I  haven't.  But,  oh,  God  !  Mr.  Halloran ' ' 

Halloran  turned  at  the  exclamation,  and  then, 
with  such  a  sense  of  helplessness  as  he  had  never 
before  known,  he  lowered  his  eyes.  For  the 
Captain  was  crying. 

"I'm.  going  right  down  there,"  the  broken 
voice  went  on.  "  Have  you  a  time-table  here  ? ' ' 

Halloran  fumbled  in  his  drawer,  found  the 
time-table,  looked  over  the  train  schedule,  marked 
the  right  column  with  his  pencil  and  laid  it  before 
the  Captain. 

1 '  When  is  that  ?     Ten-thirty  ? ' ' 

"Yes;  ten-thirty." 

"That's  in  about  an  hour.  Well,  then,  I  sup- 
pose—  He  made  as  if  to  rise,  but  settled 
back  again.  Finally  Halloran  spoke. 

"  I  think  I  know  your  daughter,  Captain. " 

"You  know  her?" 

"Yes;  I  saw  her  several  times  a  few  years  ago. 
I  can  tell  you  a  good  deal  about  George,  too. " 

"  She's  a  good  girl.  We  used  to  think  she  took 
after  me  a  little.  I  think  maybe — I  think  I'll 


A   LETTER  163 

bring  her  right  back  with  me  to-night  or  to- 
morrow; and  then  you  can  come  around  and 
see  us." 

"Yes.     What  would  you  say  if  I  were  to  go 
down  with  you,  Captain.     Perhaps  I  could  help 
you    find    her    and    George."     He    hesitated    a 
moment.     "We'll  bring  the  boy  back,    too.     I 
guess  we  can  manage  to  keep  him  busy  around 
the  office  until  the  mills  start  up  again. " 
"Do  you  know  how  old  he  is?" 
"George  must  be  about  sixteen,  I  should  say." 
"And  the  girl  is  married — she  must  be  older — 
I  guess  I'm  a  little  bewildered. "     He  got  up  now 
and  stood  silent  by  the  desk. 

"  I'll  be  ready  for  you  in  half  an  hour,  Captain. " 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  to  say;  and 
after  another  silence  Craig  went  out.  But  later, 
during  the  hours  on  the  train,  Halloran  had  to 
tell  over  and  over  what  he  knew  about  George 
and  Lizzie,  their  mother,  and  Le  Due 


CHAPTER  XI 
HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  Dues 

WHEN  at  last  they  were  on  the  cable-car, 
north  bound,  Craig  broke  the  silence  that  had 
held  through  the  latter  half  of  the  journey. 

"  Do  you  suppose  we  could  get  them  all  together 
to-night — the  boy,  and  the  girl  and  her  husband  ? 
We  could  have  a  supper  somewhere." 

"  I  think  so.  It  will  be  a  little  late  before  I  can 
get  George  back  from  Evanston — half -past  eight 
or  nine  o'clock,  probably." 

The  Captain  winced  at  the  words.  He  knew 
now  that  George  was  a  charity  boy  in  the  home 
of  his  own  father. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  set  it  for  half -past  eight, 
I  will  see  Le  Due  and  then  go  out  for  George." 

The  Captain,  whose  head  was  in  no  condition 
for  planning  even  so  much  as  a  supper,  accepted 
this  arrangement  without  a  word.  They  were 
silent  again  until  they  left  the  car. 

" I  wonder  if  she'll  know  me,"  Craig  mused,  as 
they  walked  along,  "I  ain't  the  same  as  I  was 
then — it's  a  long  time,  Mr.  Halloran,  a  long  time. 
She  was  a  pretty  girl — always  had  a  laugh  for  one 

164 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       165 

—I've  often  thought  of  her  energy  and  nerve. 
She  had  a  way  of  going  at  things,  I  tell  you. 
When  she  got  a  notion  she  ought  to  earn  her  own 
living  there  couldn't  anything  stop  her.  Are 
we  getting  near  it?" 

"Just  a  little  way  now." 

"That's  good.  It's  queer  how  long  a  day  can 
be — and  after  most  twenty  years,  too." 

At  the  door  Halloran  paused.  It  was  in  a  mean 
street,  meaner  even  than  the  old  quarters  near 
Hoffman's  saloon,  and  the  stairs  leading  up  to 
the  living-rooms  above  were  crowded  in  between 
a  cheap  restaurant  and  a  much  less  respectable 
saloon  than  Hoffman's. 

"Well,  Captain,  I'll  leave  you  here." 

"  Why — aren't  you  coming  in  ? " 

"No;  I  haven't  any  too  much  time.  I  know 
Le  Due's  address — I  read  it  in  the  paper  this 
morning.  We  will  meet  here  at  half -past  eight." 

Craig  was  about  to  protest,  but  Halloran 
hurried  off;  and  the  Captain  started  alone  up 
the  stairway. 

The  Le  Dues  were  living  at  an  apartment  hotel 
not  far  from  the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  From  the 
appearance  of  the  building  and  the  neighbour- 
hood Halloran  inferred  that  the  corn  market  was 
proving  a  profitable  field  for  Apples.  He  inquired 
for  him  and  was  taken  up  in  the  elevator  and 
shown  into  a  neat  little  parlour  on  an  upper 


i66  THE  WHIP  HAND 

floor,  commanding  a  view  of  the  lake.  Being 
received  by  a  maid  in  a  cap  and  apron,  he  repeated 
his  inquiry,  only  to  learn  that  Mr.  Le  Due  was 
not  at  home — had  not  yet  returned  from  his  office. 
Could  he  see  Mrs.  Le  Due  ?  The  maid  hesitated. 
But  as  time  was  pressing,  he  persisted.  Would 
she  please  tell  her  mistress  that  Mr.  Halloran  had 
come  with  an  important  message  from  Mrs. 
Le  Due's  mother  and  grandfather.  The  maid 
turned  away  and  had  nearly  crossed  the  room 
when  she  was  intercepted  by  a  loud  whisper  from 
behind  the  double  doors  of  the  next  room : 

"Ask  him  to  wait." 

So  Halloran  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  photo- 
graphs of  actors  and  actresses  that  crowded  the 
walls — prominent  among  which  were  large  prints 
of  Appleton  Le  Due  and  Elizabeth  Le  Due  and 
Elmer  Le  Due — until  Apples  himself,  wearing  a 
prosperous  air,  better  dressed,  but  still  dapper, 
still  with  a  flash  somewhere  in  his  get-up,  opened 
the  door,  and  Halloran  rose  to  meet  him. 

"How — how  are  you?  Oh,  this  must  be 
Halloran.  I  knew  you  at  college.  How  are  you  ? 
What  can  I  do  for  you?  Sit  down,  Halloran. 
Excuse  me  a  minute  while  I  take  off  my  coat. " 

Apples  disappeared  into  the  next  room,  and  "as 
the  door  closed  behind  him  there  was  an  audible 
smack,  followed  by  whispering.  He  shortly 
returned  with  a  puzzled  expression. 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS      167 

"Excuse  me  for  keeping  you  waiting,  Halloran. 
There  are  so  many  claims  on  me  these  days  that 
I  can't  get  away  from  my  office  as  early  as  I'd 
like.  Now  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"It  is  a  long  story,  Apples" — the  Corn  King 
seemed  to  dislike  the  word — "but  you'll  hear  it 
all  soon  enough.  What  it  amounts  to  is,  that 
Mrs.  Craig's  father,  who  is  a  steamer  captain,  is 
working  for  the  same  company  that  employs  me, 
and " 

"So  you're  a  sailor  now,  eh?" 

"Not  exactly  that." 

"  Let  me  see,  you  went  in  for  that  sort  of  thing 
a  good  deal  in  the  old  days,  didn't  you  ?  Weren't 
you  on  the  Life-Saving  Crew  at  college?" 

"Yes,  I  was.  Captain  Craig  has  come  down 
here  to  take  Mrs.  Craig  back  home  with  him. " 

"Well,  you  don't  say  so!" 

"And  he  would  like  you  and  Mrs.  Le  Due  to 
meet  him  and  Mrs.  Craig  at  her  rooms  to-night 
and  take  supper  with  them — at  half-past  eight. 
I'm  going  out  now  for  George. "  He  rose  to  go. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Halloran  "—Apples  had 
risen,  too,  and  was  speaking  in  a  low,  confidential 
voice — "between  ourselves,  my  wife  isn't  going 
out  much  now,  and  I'm  afraid  we  can't  do  it. 
We'd  like  to  very  much,  you  know. " 

Again  came  the  whisper  from  behind  the  door. 

"Appleton!" 


i68  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"  Yes,  dearie.  Excuse  me  a  second,  Halloran. " 
He  slipped  out  again  and  there  was  more  whisper- 
ing. When  he  returned  it  was  to  say:  "My 
wife  would  be  very  glad  to  have  you  all  come 
here  instead.  We  will  have  the  supper  up  here 
in  our  apartment.  Tell  them  we'll  be  very  glad 
to  see  them — and  you,  too." 

"  Thank  you.     I'll  tell  them. " 

Apples  showed  him  out,  and  as  he  left  the 
building  and  headed  for  the  State  Street  trolley 
he  found  himself  thinking  much  of  Apples  and  his 
rise  in  life. 

When  he  was  on  the  Evanston  train,  however, 
he  had  something  else  to  think  about.  In  order 
to  get  George  he  must  go  either  to  the  Bigelows' 
home  or  to  Margaret's.  Not  one  of  the  letters  he 
had  written  since  that  evening  had  been  answered. 
Besides,  he  was  not  in  the  right  frame  of  mind  to 
see  her — or  he  thought  he  was  not,  which  amounted 
to  the  same  thing.  All  day  he  had  been  deep  in 
the  trouble  of  the  Craig  family,  and  in  his  talk 
about  coming  out  after  George  he  had  not  taken 
time  to  think  just  how  he  was  to  manage  it.  But 
he  was  realizing  it  now  as  he  left  the  train  and 
started  up  toward  the  Ridge ;  and  as  this  is  to  be 
an  honest  history,  the  facts  of  what  followed 
must  be  told. 

Half-way  up  from  the  station,  while  he  was 
walking  briskly  along,  boasting  inwardly  that  he 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       169 

was  calm  and  ready  to  see  Margaret,  his  legs, 
without  warning  him,  turned  him  off  on  a  side 
street.  When  he  had  rounded  the  block,  and 
had  convinced  himself  that  now  he  was  headed 
straight  for  the  Ridge,  they  deceived  him  again. 
This  was  humiliating,  and,  more,  was  not  the  way 
to  march  to  victory.  Twice  he  walked  around 
the  square,  but  the  third  time,  by  a  strong  effort, 
he  succeeded  in  passing  the  fatal  corner.  Soon 
he  could  see  the  house  a  little  way  ahead.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  he  was  rushing  along  at  an 
absurd  speed,  and  he  walked  more  slowly.  A 
moment  more  and  he  was  in  front  of  the  house, 
was  turning  in  up  the  walk — but,  no,  he  was 
mistaken ;  for  the  legs,  suddenly  out  of  all  control, 
carried  him  by  and  nearly  a  block  farther  up  the 
street  before  he  could  check  them  and  get  them 
headed  straight.  He  found  he  could  manage 
them  better  by  stepping  once  on  each  square  of 
the  cement  walk,  squarely  in  the  middle  each 
time;  and  he  could  keep  this  up  by  giving  all  his 
mind  to  it.  This  made  it  necessary  to  take 
rather  long  steps,  but  the  twilight  was  deepening, 
and,  besides,  there  were  few  other  pedestrians 
on  the  street.  Again  he  drew  near.  He  looked 
up  at  the  windows — they  were  dark,  excepting  a 
light  in  the  rear  and  one  upstairs.  Something 
forbidding  about  the  square  old  house,  with  its 
rows  of  unlighted  windows,  chilled  his  heart, 


170  THE  WHIP  HAND 

struck  deep  into  the  energy  that  had  carried  him 
thus  far,  and  he  faltered.  But  this  would  not  do. 
He  forced  his  eyes  down  to  the  sidewalk  and 
resolutely  put  his  right  foot  on  the  next  square 
of  cement — then  his  left  on  the  second  square— 
and  on,  step  by  step,  up  the  front  walk.  He 
mounted  the  steps  and  crossed  the  wide 
veranda  to  the  door — then  hurriedly  pushed 
the  bell. 

There  was  a  long  wait.  After  a  time  he  heard 
doors  opening  and  closing  within,  and  the  sound 
of  a  person  moving;  finally  there  were  footsteps 
in  the  hall  and  the  door  was  opened. 

"Is — is  Miss  Davies  here?" 

4 'Why — no.  Miss  Davies  and  her  mother 
have  gone  East." 

"Gone  East!" 

"  Yes ;  they  are  in  the  mountains — in  Woodland 
Valley." 

"Woodland  Valley!" 

"Yes.  I  couldn't  tell  you  when  they'll  be 
back.  They  didn't  know  themselves  when  they 
left." 

A  moment  more  and  the  door  had  closed  and 
Halloran  was  down  on  the  sidewalk.  He  turned 
aimlessly  up  the  street.  Gone  East ! — and  no 
word  for  him  !  Perhaps  his  letters  had  not  even 
reached  her.  Why  had  he  not  come  straight 
back  to  Evanston  that  same  week  and  claimed 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LB  DUCS       171 

his  answer?  What  an  invertebrate  creature  he 
was,  anyway !  What  a  gloomy  evening !  How 
the  shadows  of  the  maples  and  elms  closed  down 
on  his  thoughts  !  The  arc  lamps  at  the  corners, 
the  long  row  of  houses  glowing  with  light,  all 
smiled  at  him  and  drove  him  deeper  into  the 
gloom.  Gone  East ! 

It  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  come  out  for 
another  purpose.  There  was  nothing  for  it  now 
but  to  go  to  the  Bigelows' ;  and  with  a  glance  at 
his  watch,  he  turned  in  that  direction. 

The  family  were  at  dinner,  he  was  informed, 
but  Mrs.  Bigelow  would  see  him  in  a  few  moments. 
He  was  shown  into  a  reception-room,  where  he 
could  drop  into  a  chair  in  the  bay  window  and 
look  in  between  the  portieres  down  the  length  of 
the  living-room.  The  furniture  was  rich  and 
heavy;  the  mantels  and  tables  and  bookcases 
Were  laden  with  bric-a-brac;  the  walls  were 
covered  with  paintings  and  engravings,  some  of 
them  fairly  good,  all  of  them  very  costly.  From 
the  dining-room  came  the  jingle  of  knives  and 
forks  and  the  laughter  of  children,  and  now  and 
then  the  heavy  voice  of  Mr.  Bigelow  dominating. 
Then  he  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts  and  in  came 
Mrs.  Bigelow. 

"  How  do  you  do,  John  ?  It  is  a  long  time  since 
we  have  seen  you.  You  must  have  gone  away 
from  Evanston  when  you  left  college." 


172  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Yes;  I'm  not  living  here." 

"  Where  are  you  now,  John  ? " 

"  I'm  up  in  Michigan. " 

"You  have  a  position  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  have  heard  Mr.  Bigelow  say  that  there 
are  really  about  as  good  openings  in  the  country 
as  in  the  city.  It  is  so  overcrowded  in  Chicago. 
Are  you  getting  on  well?" 

"I — I  guess  so — as  well  as  I  could  expect." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that — and  Mr.  Bigelow 
will  be,  too.  He  really  took  quite  an  interest  in 
you,  John.  He  is  always  glad  to  know  that  the 
young  men  he  has  been  interested  in  are  getting 
on." 

"I  have  come  down  to  Chicago  to-day,  Mrs. 
Bigelow,  to  look  for  a  boy ;  and  I  have  heard  he  is 
here.  His  name  is  George — George  Bigelow." 

"Oh,  yes;  George.  It  is  odd  that  he  should 
have  our  name.  He  is  a  Settlement  boy — Mr. 
Babcock  rescued  him  from  I  don't  know  what 
distress.  I  wondered  if  there  were  any  distant 
branch  of  the  family  that  could  have  dropped  in 
the  world,  but  Mr.  Bigelow  says  there  is  no  con- 
nection whatever.  It  is  a  very  common  name 
in  Chicago,  he  says.  It  seems  that  the  boy's 
family  is  worthless,  and  he  himself  has  already 
been  in  jail.  But  he  seems  to  feel  some  remorse, 
and  I  am  not  letting  it  make  any  difference  here. " 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       173 

"Captain  Craig,  his  grandfather,  heard  to-day 
from  George's  mother,  after  a  long  separation. 
We  happen  to  be  employed  by  the  same  company 
and  I  have  come  down  with  him  to  find  his  family. 
He  wants  to  take  them  all  back  with  him." 

"To  take  him  back?  Why,  he  has  been  here 
only  a  little  while.  Did  you  mean  to  take  him 
yourself?" 

"  Captain  Craig  plans  to  give  them  all  a  supper 
this  evening,  and  I  promised  him  I  would  be  on 
hand  with  George." 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  send  for  him. " 

She  stepped  to  the  hall  and  rang  a  bell.  While 
she  was  speaking  to  the  maid  Mr.  Bigelow  came 
into  the  hall,  with  a  little  girl  hanging  to  each  arm. 
He  paused  in  the  doorway  of  the  reception-room 
and  nodded  to  Halloran. 

"How  do  you  do,"  he  said. 

"  How.  do  you  do,  sir. " 

"This  is  John  Halloran,  dear,"  said  his  wife, 
turning.  He  has  come  to  take  George  away. 
George's  grandfather,  he  tells  me,  is  really  quite 
respectable." 

Mr.  Bigelow  had  shaken  off  the  children  and 
was  getting  into  his  overcoat. 

"  It  is  just  as  well, "  he  replied,  without  looking 
around.  "  We  really  have  no  work  for  him  here. " 

At  this  moment  the  subject  of  the  talk  himself 
appeared,  advancing  bashfully,  overcome  by  the 


174  THE   WHIP   HAND 

splendour  about  him,  and  not  yet  knowing  why 
he  had  been  summoned.  He  looked  at  Halloran 
for  a  moment  before  he  recognized  him. 

"How  are  you,  George,"  said  Halloran,  ad- 
vancing and  holding  out  his  hand.  "Do  you 
remember  me?" 

George  blushed,  grinned  and  took  his  hand; 
and  as  he  did  so,  Mr.  Bigelow,  with  his  coat 
buttoned  and  one  glove  on,  turned  around.  He 
looked  at  George — a  tall,  awkward,  ill-dressed 
boy  of  sixteen — with  a  curious,  gruff  expression, 
then  his  eyes  shot  one  quick,  inquiring  look  at 
Halloran. 

"You'll  excuse  me,"  he  said,  recovering.  And 
without  speaking  further  he  went  out  and  shut 
the  door  hard  behind  him. 

"Come,  George,"  said  Halloran;  "I'm  going 
to  take  you  to  a  new  home.  Have  you  any  truck 
to  carry?" 

"Nothing  much." 

"Get  your  coat,  then,  and  come  along." 

"When  they  had  reached  the  tenement  and 
were  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  stairway  Halloran 
pushed  George  ahead. 

"Go  in  there,  George.  You'll  find  them 
together."  . 

"Yes,  I  hear  'em  talking.  But  ain't  you 
coming?" 

"No,  not  yet.     Go  ahead." 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       175 

George  opened  the  door  and  Halloran  went 
back  a  little  way  down  the  stairs  and  sat  down. 
It  was  dark  and  dirty.  On  all  sides,  above  and 
below,  were  noises — babies  squalling,  men  and 
women  quarreling — but  he  heard  little;  his 
thoughts  were  speeding  off  to  the  eastern  moun- 
tains. There  was  a  young  woman  in  those 
mountains — where  the  leaves  were  beginning  to 
turn,  perhaps,  as  here  in  the  West — only  a  thou- 
sand miles  away.  What  had  he  been  waiting  for  ? 
Was  it  for  her  to  write  ?  How  had  he  supposed  her 
answer  was  to  come?  What  stood  in  the  way — 
circumstances?  Some  other  one?  Or  was  it 
that  the  only  obstacle  was  a  certain  person  sitting, 
at  this  moment,  on  a  dark  stairway  in  a  tenement  ? 
More  likely  the  latter — but  how  was  he  to  discover 
it  so  close  home?  It  was  rather  more  fun  to  be 
miserable.  Family  reunion  on  one  side  of  his 
thoughts,  all  hopes  a  thousand  miles  removed  on 
the  other  side — on  the  whole,  he  preferred  dark 
stairways. 

"Mr.  Halloran,  are  you  there?  It's  so  dark  I 
can't  see." 

4 'Yes;  coming  right  up." 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  get  away  from  us." 

"No,  but  I  must  be  off  now."  They  were 
entering  the  room.  "Le  Due  wants  you  all  over 
there  to  supper." 

"Over  there?" 


176  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Yes." 

"You  mustn't  go  now,  Mr.  Halloran.  He 
asked  you,  too,  didn't  he?  Of  course  he 
did." 

"Why,  I'd  like  to,  but " 

"Now,  see  here,  after  the  turn  things  have 
taken  we  couldn't  have  the  supper  without  you. 
That's  a  part  of  it,  you  see — it's  the  way  I  planned 
it.  You've  got  to  come." 

"Well,  if  you  feel  that  way " 

"We  do,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I 
guess  we'd  better  be  starting  over,  hadn't  we? 
It's  most  half -past  now.  Where's  your  jacket, 
Jennie?"  Mrs.  Craig  had  no  jacket,  it  appeared; 
but  the  Captain  helped  her  on  with  her  shawl. 
"  Got  your  hat,  George  ?  Better  let  me  have  your 
arm,  Jennie,  going  down  the  stairs.  It's  pretty 
dark."  ' 

"Oh,  I  know  these  stairs,  father." 

"That's  so;  I  suppose  you  do.  All  ready,  Mr. 
Halloran?" 

"  All  ready,  Captain.  I'll  put  out  the  light.  Go 
ahead." 

They  went  down  the  stairs  two  and  two,  Mrs. 
Craig  and  the  Captain,  Halloran  and  George,  and 
walked  toward  the  lake,  through  the  vicious  quiet 
of  the  side  streets,  through  the  merriment  of 
North  Clark  Street,  through  the  sober,  comfortable 
region  of  stone  houses  and  big  churches — on  to 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       177 

the  imposing  private  hotel  where  dwelt  the 
Le  Dues. 

"I'm  afraid,  father,"  whispered  Mrs.  Craig, 
"that  I'm  not  exactly  dressed  for  this." 

"  Nonsense  !  My  daughter  needn't  be  ashamed 
to  go  anywhere.  I  wouldn't  give  that  for  a  girl 
that  wouldn't  be  glad  to  see  her  own  mother,  no 
matter  if  she  came  in  a  sunbonnet.  There's 
nothing  the  matter  with  this  shawl,  I  guess." 

"Why,  no;  but  it's  old.  And  they're  not 
wearing  shawls  now." 

"  What  do  we  care  about  that  ?" 

"I  don't  care  if  you  don't."  And  so  deter- 
mined was  she  not  to  care  that  she  managed  to 
force  a  little  smile  as  her  feet  sank  into  the  carpet 
and  the  door-boy  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass. 

Le  Due  himself  opened  the  door  and  greeted 
the  group  in  the  hall  with  a  "How  are  you? 
Come  in!" 

They  filed  into  the  room,  where  a  table  was 
spread  for  them,  and  stood  about  awkwardly. 
Mrs.  Craig  busied  herself  with  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  George  stood  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the 
other,  and  looked  at  the  carpet ;  and  Halloran 
slipped  into  the  background.  But  the  Captain 
broke  the  silence  by  advancing  toward  Le  Due. 

"This  must  be  Appleton,  I  take  it.  I'm  glad 
to  see  you,  young  man — glad  to  welcome  you 
into  my  family." 


1 78  THE  WHIP  HAND 

Apples  took  the  outstretched  hand  and  mur- 
mured something. 

4 'And  where's  Lizzie?  I've  got  to  see  her 
before  you  ca,n  make  me  believe  I've  got  a  grand- 
daughter old  enough  to  be  married.  You'd 
never  think  it  to  look  at  Jennie,  there,  would 
you?  Isn't  she  coming?" 

"Here  I  am,"  said  the  young  woman  herself, 
appearing  in  the  doorway. 

The  Captain  looked  at  her  while  the  others 
stood  silent;  finally  he  walked  around  the  table 
to  meet  her. 

"I — I  can't  believe  it.  I'm  just  going  to  kiss 
you,  my  dear.  I  guess  your  husband  won't 
object  if  you  kiss  your  own  grandfather,  will  he?" 

" Oh,  no;  certainly  not, "  said  Le  Due. 

"Well,  well,  so  here  we  really  are — all  of  us! 
Now  we  must  have  a  good  time  of  it.  Where  are 
we  to  sit,  granddaughter?  Don't  forget  to  put 
me  next  to  yourself.  This  almost  makes  me  feel 
as  if  I  was  back  in  the  old  house. " 

They  took  their  places,  and  two  waiters  from 
the  hotel  restaurant  appeared  to  serve  them. 
And  then  Le  Due,  with  some  sense  of  his  responsi- 
bility as  host,  endeavoured  to  set  the  talk  going, 
but  without  marked  success.  For  both  Mrs. 
Craig  and  her  daughter  felt  awkward,  and  the 
Captain  could  not  entirely  master  the  oppressive- 
ness of  the  surroundings  and  of  the  waiters  in 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       179 

their  dress  suits.     Halloran  made  one  effort  to 
enliven  matters. 

"Captain,  Apples" — Le  Due's  nose  went  up  a 
little  at  the  word — ' '  Apples  was  on  the  beach  the 
night  you  came  ashore  in  the  surf -boat. " 

"  You  don't  say  so?  Strange,  isn't  it,  the  way 
things  come  around,  and  the  people  you've  met 
once  are  sure  to  turn  up  again?  If  I  don't 
remember  you,  Appleton,  it's  because  I  wasn't 
feeling  in  shape  to  see  anything  that  night  but 
what  was  left  of  the  old  steamer.  An  ugly  time 
that  was.  There  was  an  hour  or  so  before  you 
lighted  up  your  fire  when  I  wouldn't  have  given 
half  a  dollar  for  our  chances.  The  steamer  was 
breaking  up  fast." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Apples,  "that  must  have 
been  in  my  college  days.  Do  you  remember  just 
when  it  was,  Halloran?" 

"I'm  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

"  It  was  up  the  shore  toward  Glencoe, 
wasn't  it  ?  I  remember  one  wreck  up  that  way— 
you  crew  fellows  had  quite  a  time  of  it,  didn't 
you*?" 

After  this  feeble  light  on  the  conversation, 
darkness  fell  again;  and  the  little  family  ate 
almost  in  silence,  until  the  waiters  brought  in  a 
platter  of  ducks  and  set  them  before  Le  Due. 
The  host  looked  suspiciously  on  them,  then 
glanced  at  Lizzie.  Finally,  while  his  fingers 


i8o  THE  WHIP   HAND 

toyed  nervously  with  the  carving  knife  and  fork, 
his  eyes  sought  the  waiters ;  but  one  had  left  the 
room  and  the  other  was  busy  with  the  vegetables. 
Evidently  he  was  expected  to  begin  carving — 
the  table  waited,  silently  and  expectantly — so 
he  planted  the  fork  in  the  right  wing  of  the  first 
duck  and  began.  It  did  not  go  well.  A  brown 
fringe  of  gravy  decorated  the  table-cloth  around 
the  platter,  and  little  specks  flew  out  occasionally 
toward  the  guests.  Lizzie  turned  to  Halloran 
and  asked  if  he  was  living  in  the  city  now ;  and  he 
replied  that  he  was  not.  The  brown  fringe  was 
widening;  and  George  was  watching  the  per- 
formance with  increasing  interest.  Lizzie  per- 
sisted: "Are  you  going  to  be  here  long,  this 
visit?"  No,  he  was  going  back  to-morrow. 
The  diversion  failed  here,  and  they  waited  in 
silence.  Apples  was  breathing  hard.  At  length, 
a  quick,  unskilful  movement  caused  something 
to  slip,  and  the  end  duck  hopped  neatly  out  on  the 
table-cloth  and  settled  down  in  a  pool  of  gravy. 
Apples  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  Lizzie. 

"My  dear" — he  began.  But  the  waiter  Vas 
at  his  elbow,  saying, 

" Shall  I  serve  it,  sir?" 

At  this  point  the  Captain  rose,  napkin  in  hand. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Appleton, "  he  said,  "you 
just  change  places  with  me.  If  there's  one  thing 
I  know,  it's  ducks." 


THE  YARD  "BOSS 


HIGH  LIFE  AT  THE  LE  DUCS       181 

After  this,  in  spite  of  the  gloom  that  settled  on 
the  host,  the  evening  went  better.  And  when 
the  party  broke  up,  at  what  the  Captain  called 
a  scandalous  hour,  and  scattered  to  hotel  and 
tenement,  there  was  some  cordiality  in  the 
chorus  of  good-nights  and  good-byes.  In  the 
morning,  by  an  early  train,  the  three  members 
of  the  Craig  family  and  Halloran  returned  to 
Wauchung, 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  PINE  COMES  IN 

"THAT  settles  it,"  exclaimed  Halloran,  toss- 
ing a  letter  on  the  desk. 

Crosman  looked  up. 

"We've  placed  our  last  order  for  lumber  this 
season,"  said  Halloran. 

"Have  the  Trust  people  waked  up?" 

"  Yes.  Our  Oconomowoc  man  writes  that  they 
refuse  to  sell  him  another  foot  unless  they're 
assured  that  it  won't  come  to  us.  They're  pretty 
late  about  it.  •  We've  got  nearly  all  we  want. 
Well,  that  ends  it,  anyhow.  The  next  thing  is 
to  get  it  all  in.  There's  no  use  paying  storage  to 
all  those  fellows  now  that  we're  found  out.  I 
wish  you'd  see  about  getting  both  steamers  off 
as  soon  as  you  can — send  them  to  Chicago  and 
Milwaukee,  where  we  have  the  biggest  lots.  We'll 
write  for  steamers  and  schooners  for  the  other 
towns." 

"  Can  we  get  it  all  in  the  yards  ?  There's  a  lot 
here  now." 

"Got  to.  It  will  crowd  up  close  to  the  mills, 
but  we  can't  help  it." 

182 


THE   PINE  COMES   IN  183 

"That  will  raise  the  insurance  premium — clear 
up  to  the  mill  rate. 

"I  know  it." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  ahead  with  the 
insurance  ? ' ' 

"No;  not  yet.  Speak  to  me  again  about  it  in 
a  day  or  so.  This  lumber  isn't  going  to  help  us 
out  very  far  if  we  let  all  our  profits  go  out  in 
storage  and  commissions  and  carriage  and  insur- 
ance. I  don't  know  but  what  we'll  have  to  carry 
it  ourselves.  It  isn't  just  the  weather  I'd  have 
picked  out — but  this  business  isn't  of  our  choosing, 
anyway.  I'd  like  to  find  out  how  much  old  G. 
Hyde  knows  about  us.  I  don't  believe  he's  got 
on  the  track  of  the  whole  stock. " 

And  so  the  order  went  out  to  concentrate  all  the 
lumber  at  Wauchung;  and  at  the  flying  word, 
passing  from  house  to  house,  that  at  last  there  was 
to  be  work  at  the  yards,  Wauchung  stirred  and 
aroused.  Again  men  came  flocking  to  the  office, 
shouldering  peavies  and  cant-hooks  and  clamour- 
ing for  employment.  Sailors  appeared  to  man 
the  steamers  and  were  set  to  scrubbing  and 
polishing.  Coal-wagons  rumbled  through  the 
yards  to  the  wharves,  bringing  food  for  the 
furnaces.  Men  went  about  grinning  and  joking 
and  slapping  backs  heartily,  and  swapping  yarns 
about  the  Old  Gentleman  in  his  palmy  days,  ten 
and  twenty  years  before.  Robbie  MacGregor 


i84  THE  WHIP   HAND 

appeared,  fatter  than  ever  after  his  enforced  idle- 
ness, growling  at  all  the  known  works  of  the 
Creator,  and  refusing  to  speak  civilly  to  any  one 
until  he  had  let  himself  into  his  greasy  blue  over- 
alls and  was  free  to  finger  his  levers,  and  dress 
down  the  oilers,  and  swear  gloriously  at  the  new 
hands  in  the  stoke-room. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Halloran, "  said  Captain 
Craig,  when  he  reached  the  office.  "  When  are  we 
to  start?" 

"  To-night,  if  you  have  your  men.  MacGregor's 
on  hand  now,  getting  up  steam." 

" Good  for  Robbie." 

"By  the  way,  Captain,  I'll  try  to  have  some 
work  for  George  as  soon  as  the  first  lot  of  lumber 
gets  in." 

"  That's  good.  You'll  find  him  ready  for  you. 
I'll  be  glad  to  get  started  again  myself — it's  been  a 
mean  pull;  and  there  just  wasn't  any  getting 
along  with  Robbie.  I  never  saw  him  so  down. 
Dry  weather,  isn't  it." 

' '  Yes,  better  for  you  than  for  us .  Are  you  going 
to  let  Bigelow  steal  your  men  off  you  this  trip  ? " 

"I  hardly  think  so. " 

"You  may  have  a  chance  yet — you're  to  go  to 
Chicago." 

The  Captain  smiled  dryly.  He  was  in  fine 
mettle  now ;  his  clear  eyes  and  sound  colour  belied 
his  wrinkles  and  the  white  streaks  in  his  hair. 


THE   PINE  COMES   IN  185 

11 1  wish  he'd  try  it, "  he  replied.     "  We'll  be  glad 
to  hear  from  him  any  time. " 

Late  that  afternoon  the  two  steamers  swung 
away  from  the  wharves,  one  after  the  other, 
steamed  out  through  the  channel,  passed  the 
life-saving  station  and  the  lighthouse,  and 
headed,  the  Higginson  Number  i,  sou 'west-by- 
south  toward  Chicago,  the  Number  2  sou'west 
toward  Milwaukee,  to  bring  in  the  first  loads  of 
lumber.  And  a  thrill  went  through  the  yards, 
where  tn^re  were  a  few  men  at  work,  and  passed  on 
to  the  long  lines  of  waiting  labourers  outside,  as  the 
shouts  of  the  officers  and  the  rumble  of  the  engines 
and  the  wash  of  the  propellers  sounded  through 
the  dry  autumn  air.  The  mills  were  still  silent 
the  little  world  that  depended  almost  for  its 
existence  on  the  movements  of  that  machinery 
was  still  suffering  from  poverty  and  idleness, 
was  still  facing  the  possibility  of  a  winter  without 
employment;  but  somehow  the  sight  of  the  two 
steamers  once  more  plowing  up  the  water  of 
the  harbour,  of  the  blue  smoke  once  more  spread- 
ing low  over  the  sand-dunes  and  over  the  sparkling 
lake  that  stretched  beyond,  spoke  to  them  of  new 
life  at  the  Higginson  yards.  If  the  steamers  were 
started  out  after  the  long  wait,  why  might  not  the 
mills  be  soon  humming  and  singing  again,  why 
might  not  the  ax  again  flash  and  strike  in  the 
forest,  and  the  songs  of  the  river  gang  again  ring 


i86  THE  WHIP   HAND 

down  the  long  reaches  of  pine-edged  water  ?  The 
possibility  was  in  the  thoughts  of  them  all  as  their 
eyes  followed  the  steamers  far  out  into  the  lake, 
and  lingered  on  the  fading  smoke  long  after  the 
boats  themselves  had  dropped  over  the  south- 
western horizon.  It  was  something  to  be  moving 
again;  and  every  one  was  a  little  more  cheerful 
that  evening  for  what  they  had  seen  and  felt. 

Now  that  the  steamers  were  on  the  way, 
Halloran  found  that  he  had  a  problem  on  his 
hands.  More  than  six  million  feet  of  lumber 
demands  a  large  area,  and  the  question  of  getting 
it  into  the  yards  was  a  serious  one. 

The  Higginson  yards  occupied  a  peninsula, 
formed  on  the  inland  side  by  the  Wauchung 
River,  on  the  other  side  by  the  harbour.  This 
harbour  was  in  reality  a  small  lake,  such  as  one 
will  find  duplicated  every  little  way  for  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Lake 
Michigan.  The  prevailing  west  winds  have 
thrown  up  a  line  of  high  dunes  along  this  shore, 
forming  a  natural  dam  at  the  mouth  of  each  of 
the  many  small  rivers.  The  Government  had  at 
Wauchung,  as  at  many  similar  places,  dredged  out 
a  channel  that  enabled  steamers  to  get  in  to  the 
wharves  and  to  turn  in  the  harbour. 

The  two  mills  were  on  the  upper  or  river  side  of 
the  peninsula,  where  they  could  receive  the  logs 
that  were  floated  down  from  the  timberlands. 


THE   PINE   COMES   IN  187 

From  the  mills  the  cut  timber  was  run  out  on 
elevated  tramways  and  piled  along  the  wharves. 
Ordinarily  there  was  a  wide  space  between  the 
mills  and  the  nearest  pile  of  lumber.  There  was 
a  provision,  indeed,  in  the  insurance  policies,  that 
it  could  not  be  piled  nearer  than  two  hundred  feet 
without  the  payment  of  a  higher  premium;  and 
if  the  piles  should  extend  within  fifty  feet  of  the 
mills  the  rate  mounted  to  an  almost  prohibitive 
point. 

The  yards  were  surrounded  by  water  on  three 
sides — on  the  fourth  were  the  cottages  of  the 
labourers  and  of  the  other  poorer  residents 
of  the  town.  Halloran  had  a  choice,  then, 
between  piling  the  lumber  close  around 
the  mills  (there  being  already  a  considerable 
quantity  in  the  yards)  and  either  paying  the 
higher  rate  of  insurance  or  going  without,  or 
carting  it  off  and  renting  outside  land  for  storage, 
thus  adding  a  new  item  to  his  expenses.  Every 
spare  moment  between  this  day  and  the  arrival 
of  the  first  steamer  was  spent  in  looking  over  the 
yards  and  planning  the  arrangement  so  as  to  get 
the  best  advantage  of  the  space. 

It  was  on  the  second  day  after  the  departure 
of  the  steamers  that  Crosman  burst  into  the  office 

and  cried: 

"She's  coming  in — the  Number  Two!  I  saw 
her  funnels  over  the  sand-hills. " 


i88  THE   WHIP   HAND 

His  excitement  was  catching,  and  Halloran 
got  up  from  his  desk  and  looked  out  the  window. 
Sure  enough,  there  was  the  smoke,  far  out  along 
the  sky-line.  A  moment  later,  looking  between 
the  channel  piers,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
steamer  heading  in  toward  the  lighthouse. 

Watchful  eyes  had  already  seen  her  from  the 
cottages  near  the  beach;  and  as  man  after  man 
hurried  over  to  the  yards  to  get  an  early  place  in 
the  lines,  the  news  spread  through  Wauchung. 
These  men  did  not  know  what  it  meant — Bigelow 
was  a  myth  to  them,  known,  if  at  all,  merely  as  an 
employer  of  labour  twenty  miles  up  the  lake — 
but  there  was  the  steamer,  bringing  in  a  cargo  of 
lumber  that  must  be  discharged  and  piled,  and 
this  meant  work.  Soon  she  was  entering  the 
channel ;  and  they  could  see  her  Captain  standing 
on  the  wheel-house  roof  with  a  hand  resting  on 
the  bell-pull.  And  while  Halloran  went  over  to 
the  wharf  to  direct  the  work,  Crosman  was 
kept  busy  giving  out  time-checks  and  cant- 
hooks  and  sending  man  after  man  across  the 
yards. 

Then  she  was  in  the  harbour,  was  slipping  up  to 
the  wharf;  the  engine-room  bell  jingled,  and  the 
propeller  churned  the  water ;  the  lines  were  thrown 
out  and  caught  by  eager  hands,  and  the  Higginson 
No.  2  lay  motionless  at  the  wharf,  her  deck 
piled  high  with  yellow  hemlock  and  pine.  The 


THE   PINE  COMES  IN  189 

labourers  swarmed  over  the  rail  and  went  at  the 
work  with  the  spirit  of  men  who  know  what 
hunger  means.  The  donkey-engines  at  each  end 
of  the  deck  rattled  and  clanked  as  the  hoisting- 
spars  were  lowered  over  the  cargo.  And  not 
a  man  on  the  ground,  from  Halloran  down,  but 
felt  the  impetus  that  the  arrival  of  this  first  load 
of  lumber  had  given  to  all  Wauchung.  Some  of 
the  men  showed  it  by  laughing  easily,  others  by 
swearing  easily,  and  now  and  then  they  would  all 
break  out  into  a  song  that  would  almost  have 
shocked  Jimmie  McGinnis  himself  if  he  had  been 
there  to  hear  it — to  the  immortal  air  of 

"My  father  and  mother  were  Irish, 
And  I  was  Irish,  too." 

They  did  not  know  that  this  song  had  been 
shouted  by  valiant  fighters  and  workers  in  many 
tongues — sometimes  to  reputable  words,  oftener 
not — for  centuries,  nor  did  they  care.  It  would 
not  have  interested  them  to  hear  that,  thanks  to 
its  wonderful  vitality,  this  same  melody  had 
served  generations  of  students  as  "We  won't  go 
home  till  morning";  had  swung  thousands  of 
wearied  French  soldiers  along  wild  roads  before 
Napoleon  was  born  as  "  Malbrouck  s'en  va-t-en 
guerre"]  had  perhaps  led  white-clad  swordsmen, 
with  a  lilt  and  rhythm  that  fairly  lifted  the  feet, 
off  to  the  taking  of  Jerusalem  nearly  a  thousand 
years  ago.  And  now  here  it  was  again,  sung 


i9o  THE   WHIP   HAND 

to  disreputable  words,  but  as  truly  as  ever  a  shout 
of  good- will  and  dauntless  effort.  Somebody 
had  bucked  the  Old  Gentleman — no  matter  who 
or  how — and  the  Old  Gentleman,  through  Mr. 
Halloran,  was  bucking  back,  was  nearer  than  ever 
to  winning.  And  when  he  should  win,  as  win 
he  must,  there  would  be  steady  work  and  meat 
every  day  for  the  labourers  of  Wauchung.  This 
was  all  they  knew  or  cared.  But  was  the  spirit 
less  honest  and  earnest  than  the  spirit  of  those 
jack-booted  Frenchmen  or  those  white-clad 
crusaders  ?  Allowing  for  the  glamour  of  the  past, 
for  the  shining  mist  that  enlarges,  the  old  figures 
as  their  real  outlines  grow  steadily  fainter,  were 
these  hard-handed  fellows,  heaving  the  new 
lumber  from  the  deck  of  the  Number  Two  to  the 
wharf,  laughing  and  joking  and  swearing  like 
pirates  all  the  while,  so  different  ?  Was  there  no 
romance  here? 

Before  the  work  had  begun,  Halloran  saw 
Du  Bois,  an  old  lumber  inspector,  on  the  wharf 
and  called  to  him.  The  old  man,  a  soft  felt  hat 
pulled  down  on  the  side  of  his  head,  his  gray 
beard  streaked  with  tobacco,  turned  and  waited 
for  him  to  come  up. 

"I  have  a  boy  here,  Du  Bois"  [pronounced 
Doo  Boyce],  "who  thinks  he'd  like  to  learn 
lumber-checking.  Suppose  you  take  hold  of  him 
and  see  if  we  can  make  anything  out  of  him." 


THE  PINE  COMES   IN  191 

' '  All  right,  Mr.  Halloran.     Where  is  he  ? " 

"Up  at  the  office.  You'd  better  send  a  man 
after  him.  His  name's  George  Bigelow. " 

"  All  right,  sir;  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  him. " 

The  Inspector  spat  voluminously  and  hailed 
one  of  the  labourers. 

"  Hi,  you  there  !  Run  up  to  the  office  and  tell 
George  to  get  a  scale  and  a  tally-board  and  come 
down  here.  Grease  your  knees!" 

The  labourer  ambled  off  and  soon  returned 
with  George. 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  Du  Bois,  "they  tell 
me  you're  a  lumber-checker." 

"I — I  thought  maybe  I  could  learn/' 

"What's  that  in  your  hand?" 

"A    tally-board." 

"Other  hand?" 

"A  scale." 

"What's  the  size  of  that  stick  over  there ?  No, 
don't  scale  it — stand  here.  What  are  your 
eyes  for?" 

George  had  not  passed  the  last  few  days  idly. 
The  lumbermen  were  a  picturesque,  vigorous 
lot  of  men,  and  simply  by  associating  with  them 
he  had  begun  absorbing  some  knowledge  of  their 
work.  Now  he  made  a  snap  guess. 

"  Two-by-twelve-sixteen. " 

"Other  one  yonder?" 

"  Two-by-eight-twelve. " 


1 92  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"  Call  that  a  twelve  ?  You'll  have  to  do  better 
than  that.  See  that  steamer?  We're  going  to 
unload  her  in  another  minute,  and  I  want  you  to 
mark  down  every  stick  on  your  tally-sheet  as 
the  boys  take  it  off.  Tend  your  business,  now. 
We'll  put  some  hair  on  your  chest  before  we  get 
through  with  you. " 

So  George  took  his  place  on  the  wharf  as  the 
Number  Two  came  alongside,  and  promptly 
found  himself  the  centre  of  a  dozen  gangs  of  men 
all  hustling  past  with  the  sticks,  while  the  two 
steamer-hoists  lowered  them  over  in  bundles, 
and  the  men  on  the  steamer  slid  them  off  from 
half  a  dozen  points  at  once.  Each  plank  and 
timber,  Du  Bois  had  said,  was  to  be  checked  on 
the  tally-sheet  and  its  dimensions  recorded. 

Halloran,  Crosman  and  Du  Bois  met  for  a 
moment  near  the  office  where  they  could  over- 
look the  yards.  The  Inspector  was  shaking  his 
head  at  the  still,  blue  sky. 

"I'd  like  to  see  a  few  clouds  up  there,  Mr. 
Halloran.  We  ain't  had  any  rain  since  the  devil 
knows  when." 

Halloran,  for  reply,  stirred  up  the  sawdust 
with  his  foot.  It  was  dry  and  loose. 

" I  don't  like  it,  myself." 

"Are  we  going  to  pile  it  in  all  through  here? 
You  ain't  figuring  on  taking  any  outside,  are  you  ? " 


THE   PINE   COMES   IN  193 

"No;  we  can't  do  that.  Fill  in  the  strip 
yonder" — indicating  the  narrow  end  of  the 
peninsula — "before  you  take  up  the  ground 
around  the  mills." 

"  How  about  the  insurance?"  suggested  Cros- 
man.  "I  haven't  done  anything  about  it  yet. 
Shall  I  see  to  it?" 

"No;  we'll  carry  it  ourselves." 

Crosman  and  the  Inspector  were  silent  for  a 
time  after  this,  and  all  three  looked  down  at  the 
activity  on  the  wharf.  Neither  of  the  assistants 
knew  what  a  relief  it  was  to  the  Manager  to  see 
that  one  load  of  lumber  and  to  know  that  there 
was  a  score  of  other  loads  already  on  the  way. 
It  was  his  first  glimpse  of  the  tangible  cause  of 
the  fighting,  and  the  sight  of  it  gave  him  the  feel- 
ing of  actually  getting  his  hands  on  something. 
There  was  still  to  be  considered  the  guarding  it 
from  fire,  and,  at  the  right  moment,  the  putting 
it  on  the  market.  He  did  not  know  what  new 
move  Bigelow  might  be  considering,  but  he  could 
not  see  how  any  living  man  could  block  him  now. 
Every  order  had  been  delivered  to  a  lake  port, 
so  that  he  had  no  need  to  call  on  the  railroads. 
And  an  attempt  to  restrain  him  from  using  the 
lake  carriers,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  Higginson 
steamers  alone  could  do  the  work  with  an  extra 
allowance  of  time,  seemed  out  of  the  question. 
Bigelow  would  resort  to  rascality,  of  course, 


i94  THE   WHIP   HAND 

whenever  he  could  see  or  make  an  opening ;  but 
it  was  a  question  whether  he  could  find  any  more 
openings. 

"  You  wasn't  here  when  we  had  the  big  fire, 
in  '79?"  The  Inspector  was  falling  into  a 
reminiscent  frame  of  mind. 

"Hardly." 

"That  was  before  we  had  a  steam  fire-engine. 
There  was  only  a  hand-machine  downtown — 
damn  little  syringe  on  wheels — wouldn't  put  out 
a  box  of  matches  if  the  wind  was  blowin' — and 
so  the  Old  Gentleman  kep'  about  a  hundred 
buckets  hung  in  the  mills.  Joe  Brady  was  fire 
chief — he  worked  in  the  freight  house.  But  the 
fire  come  on  a  Sunday  and  Joe'd  been  loadin'  up 
ever  since  six  o'clock  Saturday  night,  and  when 
him  and  the  boys  come  up  with  their  squirt-gun 
they'd  forgot  the  key  to  the  fire-plug,  and  they 
hadn't  brung  hose  enough  to  use  the  river. 
Buck  Patterson — he  was  superintendent — was 
passin'  out  buckets,  and  he  come  out  to  see  what 
was  the  matter,  and  you'd  ought  to  a-heard  him 
talk  to  Joe.  Buck  was  pretty  profane,  some- 
times, and  he  just  busted  out  that  night.  I 
guess  he'd  never  had  much  use  for  Joe,  only  he 
hadn't  had  a  chance  to  tell  him  about  it  before. 
'Why,  you  darn  gutter-sponge  of  a  patty  de  foy 
graw,'  says  he — I'm  only  tellin'  you  what  he  said; 
I  was  standin'  right  by  and  heard  the  whole 


THE   PINE   COMES   IN  195 

thing — he  called  him  a  patty  de  foy  graw  ! — 'You 
wart,'  he  says,  'you  liver-eyed,  kettle-bellied  soak, 
you  ain't  fit  to  polish  toas tin' -forks  in  hell ! '  He 
never  talked  just  like  nobody  else,  Buck  didn't. 
All  this  while  Joe  was  hollerin'  to  little  Murphy 
to  run  for  the  key  and  Murphy  was  hollerin'  back, 
'You  go  to  the  devil,  your  father,  and  get  it  your- 
self,' and  sayin'  it  over  and  over,  he  was  so  excited ; 
when  Buck  just  took  Joe  by  the  collar  and  give 
him  a  jolt  with  his  knee,  and  told  him  to  shut  up 
and  get  that  key,  and  Joe  run  off  meek  as  an 
infant  in  arms." 

"What  was  the  loss  that  night?"  asked 
Crosman. 

"About  twenty  thousand — eighty  per  cent, 
insured.  The  Old  Gentleman  didn't  have  a  very 
comf 'terble  time  himself.  He'd  been  ridin'  around 
on  his  buckboard  tellin'  the  boys  what  to  do. 
He  started  downtown  after  more  buckets,  and 
just  as  he  got  out  to  the  bridge  I  looked  up  and 
see  him  all  a-blazin'  out  behind.  He  didn't  even 
know  it  yet.  Must  ha'  been  a  spark  lit  on  his 
coat-tails.  I  hollered  at  him,  but  he  was  whippin' 
up  the  mare,  and  I  had  to  chase  him  across  the 
bridge.  He  begun  to  feel  funny  then,  and  when 
he  pulled  up  I  grabbed  his  arm  and  jerked  the 
reins  out  of  his  hand,  and  hauled  him  off  the 
seat  and  rolled  down  the  bank  with  him 
into  the  river.  I  guess  there  ain't  much  doubt 


196  THE  WHIP  HAND 

I  saved  his  life—  Hello,  they're  stopping 
work  down  there !" 

This  last  exclamation  was  caused  by  the 
Manager  starting  abruptly  for  the  wharf.  Cros- 
man  and  the  Inspector  followed. 

The  work  was  not  wholly  stopped,  but  a  little 
group  of  labourers  was  gathered  about  a  stick  of 
timber  watching  George,  who  was  measuring  it 
with  his  scale.  Some  of  the  other  workmen  were 
standing  and  sitting  nearby,  laughing  and  banter- 
ing, while  a  few  made  a  small  pretense  of  work. 
When  Halloran  came  on  the  scene  George  looked 
up  with  a  dogged  expression. 

"What's  this?"  Halloran  asked  the  gang-boss. 

"  We  was  going  a  little  too  fast  for  the  kid. " 

Evidently  George  had  interpreted  his  orders 
strictly,  and  when  his  eye  failed  him  in  the 
bewilderment  of  seeing  a  dozen  sticks  passing  at  a 
time,  had  stopped  each  one  to  scale  it.  Halloran 
turned  to  Du  Bois. 

"Give  the  boy  a  lift,  will  you?" 

The  old  Inspector  nodded,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

"Here,  young  man,"  he  said,  "take  'em  down 
for  me.  Go  ahead,  boys  !" 

He  hitched  himself  up  on  the  cap  of  a  snubbing- 
post,  and  when  the  donkey-engines  clanked  again 
and  the  timbers  came  dropping  and  sliding  to 
the  wharf,  and  the  files  of  labourers  shuffled  past, 


THE   PINE   COMES  IN  197 

he  went  on  with  his  story.  His  eyes  roved 
absently  up  and  down  the  wharf,  and  a  half -circle 
of  tobacco  juice  rapidly  formed  around  the  post. 
Not  a  stick  escaped  his  eye,  within  a  hundred  feet 
of  rapidly  moving  timbers;  George's  pencil  was 
kept  flying  over  the  tally-sheet. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "we  went  down  that 
bank  —  two-b'  -four-f  ourteen,  two-b'  -eight-ten  — 
like  two  cats  —  two-b' -ten-sixteen  —  a  -  fightin' . 
Two-b'-twelve-twelve.  The  Old  Gentleman 
didn't — two-b '-twelve-eighteen — know  yet  just 
what  was  up — two-b '-six-twelve,  two-b' -six- 
fourteen — and  he  got  his  hand  twisted  up  in 
my  hair — two-b '-ten-ten,  two-b  '-ten-f  ourteen, 
two-b '-ten-twelve — and  when  we  struck  the  water 
— two-b' -twelve-ten,  two-b' -eight-eighteen — 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Halloran  passed 
again  that  way,  Du  Bois  was  still  in  the  story, 
though  he  had  now  no  auditor  but  the  preoccupied 
George. 

That  same  night  another  steamer  came  in,  and 
within  a  few  days  it  was  necessary  to  put  on  a 
night  shift  to  keep  up  with  the  influx  of  lumber. 
The  yards  filled  rapidly  with  high  piles  until  the 
tramways  and  mills  were  nearly  hidden  from 
sight.  New  lumber  it  was,  not  yet  so  dry  but 
that  some  of  the  water  from  the  rivers  still 
moistened  it ;  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  the  scent 
of  pine.  It  brought  to  mind  the  deep  forests  far 


1 98  THE  WHIP   HAND 

back  from  the  lake,  the  rustle  of  the  wind  through 
the  new  boughs  far  overhead,  and  the  long,  still 
aisles,  carpeted  in  fragrant  brown,  where  the 
deer  run.  There  were  bears  out  there,  skulking 
away  from  the  axman,  grubbing  up  wild  turnips 
and  hunting  ants  and  slugs  in  rotten  stumps; 
there  were  otter  and  muskrats  and  perhaps  a 
lingering  colony  of  beaver.  Soon  the  time  would 
come  when  the  deer  and  bear  could  reclaim 
their  lands,  for  the  axmen  were  nearly  through. 
Another  score  of  years,  perhaps,  and  where  had 
been  great  forests  would  be  a  waste  of  blackened 
stumps — all  "cut  out"  for  the  market.  Rivers 
would  be  lower  and  dams  useless.  Thriving 
lumber  cities  on  the  lake  would  be  facing  ruin — 
their  reason  for  being  gone  with  the  last  timber — 
or  casting  about  to  attract  manufacturers  or 
to  cultivate  beets — anything  to  stop  the  drain  on 
their  vitality  as  the  restless  lumbermen  should 
turn  west  or  south  for  new  lands  where  they 
could  found  new  cities  and  begin  the  problem  anew. 
In  ten  days  it  was  all  in,  the  six  million  and 
odd  feet  of  boards  and  timber.  And  as  Halloran 
walked  down  to  the  bridge  one  night  and  leaned 
on  the  railing  and  looked  over  the  broad  piles  he 
was  nervous  and  depressed.  A  part  of  the  strain 
was  over  and  he  was  feeling  the  reaction.  The  key 
to  the  situation  was  in  his  hands  now — it  rested 
with  him  to  carry  the  lumber  safely  over  to  the  day 


THE  PINE   COMES   IN  199 

for  selling,  and  then  to  make  it  pay.  He  could  not 
yet  see  Mr.  Higginson.  He  had  been  to  Doctor 
Brown's  this  evening  and  the  Doctor  was  decisive. 
The  moon  came  out  as  he  stood  there  and  shed 
its  light  on  the  river  and  the  lumber.  He  straight- 
ened up  to  go;  then  waited  until  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  watchman  on  his  round  of  the 
yards. 


BOOK  HI 
THROUGH  FIRE 


CHAPTER  I 

A  LITTLE  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG 

FULL  as  the  newspapers  were  of  the  great  corn 
deal  on  the  Board  of  Trade,  there  was  no  getting 
at  the  facts  that  lay  behind  it.  The  brokers 
seemed  to  look  on  Le  Due  as  their  principal; 
Le  Due  had  nothing  to  say.  Halloran  read  the 
papers  eagerly  every  day,  watching  for  a  word 
that  would  justify  his  conjectures,  but  the  secret 
was  too  well  kept. 

One  morning  a  day  or  two  after  the  lumber  had 
come  in,  he  asked  Craig  to  step  into  the  office. 

"Captain,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  this  corn  business.  I'm  inclined  to  think 
that  if  we  could  find  out  who  is  backing  Apples 
it  might  be  just  what  we  want  to  know  most. " 

"You  think  it's  Bigelow?" 

"Well,  if  it  is  Bigelow,  and  if  his  reasons  for 
keeping  dark  are  what  I  think,  the  sooner  we 
know  it  the  better  for  Higginson  &  Company. 
Do  you  think,  from  anything  Mrs.  Craig  has  said, 
that  Bigelow  knows  who  Apples  and  his  wife  are  ?" 

"Why,  no.  Jennie  doesn't  talk  much  about 
those  times." 

203 


204  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"  I  don't  like  to  bother  you  with  this,  Captain, 
but  business  and  family  matters  are  so  mixed 
that  I  don't  know  any  other  way  to  get  at  it. 
Would  you  be  willing  to  find  out  if  there  were  any 
letters — anything  that  Le  Due  might  have  got 
hold  of  that  would  give  him  a  grip  on  Bigelow  ? " 

The  Captain  looked  grave.  "I  kind  o'  don't 
like  to  stir  her  up,  now  she's  having  such  a  good 
rest.  But — well,  I  don't  know  why  not.  Yes, 
I'll  ask  her.  I'm  afraid,"  he  added,  as  he  arose, 
"I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  kind  o'  chicken-hearted 
these  days.  You  see,  I  haven't  had  her  back 
very  long.  Yes,  the  first  good  chance  that  comes 
along  I'll  talk  it  over  with  her  and  let  you  know 
what  she  says." 

During  most  of  the  day  Halloran  was  shut  up 
in  the  office,  figuring  and  working  out  some  new 
schedules.  At  noon  he  spent  an  hour  or  more 
uptown,  and  a  half -hour  climbing  around  under 
the  bridge ;  and  later  Crosman  was  hailed,  out  in 
the  yards. 

"Could  you  drop  around  this  evening  for 
awhile?"  said  Halloran. 

"Why,  yes,"  was  the  rather  reluctant  reply, 
followed  by  a  blush  and  a  grin.  "Any  particular 
time?" 

"  Right  after  supper,  for  half  an  hour  or  so. " 

"All  right;  I'll  be  there. " 

In   the  evening,  when  Crosman   entered   the 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      205 

Manager's  room,  the  first  thing  he  observed  was  a 
purple  sweater  on  the  back  of  a  chair  by  the  bed. 
Below  it  was  an  old  pair  of  trousers,  a  cap,  and,  on 
the  floor,  a  pair  of  rubber  boots.  He  glanced  curi- 
ously at  these  things  as  he  greeted  his  superior; 
and  Halloran's  eyes  followed  his. 

" That's  my  fireman's  rig,"  he  said.  "Didn't 
know  I  was  on  the  department,  did  you?" 

"No.    What's  all  this?" 

"  It's  what  I  want  to  see  you  about,  as  much 
as  anything.  I  haven't  gone  to  sleep  a  night 
since  the  lumber  began  coming  in  without  expect- 
ing to  hear  the  bell  before  morning.  If  the  stuff 
was  mine  maybe  I  wouldn't  care  so  much." 

Crosman's  face  sobered.  "But  you  said  we'd 
carry  the  insurance  ourselves. " 

(<  You  didn't  suppose  I  wanted  to  do  it  that  way, 
did  you?  We  can't  pay  the  price,  that's  all. 
And  we  can't  lose  the  lumber,  either.  It's  up  to 
us  to  see  that  nothing  happens.  I've  worked  out 
a  little  plan  here  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  carry 
it  through." 

Crosman  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table.  His 
mind  had  been  fully  occupied  of  late,  and  it  had 
not  before  come  home  to  him  what  a  heavy — 
what  a  very  heavy — load  his  Manager  was  carrying. 
Now  these  six  million  feet  of  pine  and  hemlock 
loomed  in  his  thoughts  and  brought  a  very  serious 
expression  to  his  face. 


2o6  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"  Cheer  up,  old  man ;  we  haven't  lost  it  yet,  that 
I  know  of,  and  we're  going  to  do  our  best  not  to 
lose  it.  But  you  see,  in  buying  this  lumber  and 
getting  it  all  in  here,  we've  done  only  half  of  it; 
the  other  half  is  to  take  care  of  it  and  sell  it 
at  a  profit.  Now  look  at  this.  I've  borrowed 
some  spare  hose  from  the  department.  That's 
coming  over  in  the  morning,  and  we'll  have  it 
coupled  onto  the  plug  by  Mill  No.  i  and  kept 
ready  under  the  tramway.  Our  own  hose  will  be 
coupled  to  the  west  plug.  The  two  steamers  are 
to  be  at  the  wharf,  with  steam  up,  all  the  time, 
ready  to  throw  a  stream  on  anything  near  the 
wharves:  they'll  lie  one  at  each  end,  you  see. 
The  engineers  are  to  stand  watches  aboard  and 
keep  a  couple  of  hands  sleeping  by  to  man  the 
hose.  Then,  if  we  have  two  watchmen  always  on 
duty,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  sleeping  in  their 
shirts  and  stockings,  we  could  do  fairly  quick 
work,  with  the  town  engine  to  help." 

"  There  are  the  buckets  in  the  mills,  and  by  the 
office." 

"Yes;  we'll  use  those,  too." 

"And  this" — he  was  examining  the  paper — 
"is  the  way  you  want  the  boys  divided?" 

"Yes.  If  the  fire  should  be  at  the  north  end, 
where  the  yards  are  widest,  you  will  take  charge 
of  the  hose  at  the  mill  plug  and  see  that  the 
buckets  are  started;  I'll  take  the  west  plug,  where 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      207 

I  can  have  an  eye  on  the  wharves.  Those  are 
the  men  to  work  with  you,  these  with  me.  You'd 
better  see  yours  the  first  thing  in  the  morning— 
here's  the  schedule  of  watches — and  engage 
them.  You  see,  they're  all  men  that  live  near  the 
fence.  Tell  them  we  don't  want  a  man  that  can't 
get  to  his  station  two  minutes  after  the  Number 
One  blows  her  whistle,  no  matter  if  it's  2:30 


A.M." 


"The  whistle  will  be  the  signal,  then?" 

"Yes.  I've  told  MacGregor  to  blow  until  he 
hears  the  bark  of  every  dog  in  town.  I  want  to 
get  this  all  fixed  in  the  morning,  and  so  fixed  that 
there  can't  be  any  misunderstandings.  Any 
time  after  to-morrow  noon,  if  that  whistle  blows, 
it  means  get  to  the  yards  in  two  minutes  or  lose 
your  job.  You'd  better  tell  them  that." 

"All  right;  I'll  see  to  it.  But  gee  whiz!" 
Crosman  leaned  back  and  looked  at  Halloran. 
"  Here  we're  talking  about  this  just  as  if  it  was 
going  to  happen. " 

"  Well,  maybe  it  is.  Anyhow,  that's  how  we've 
got  to  look  at  it.  I'd  talk  to  the  boys  that  way, 
too. "  He  rose  and  sat  on  the  corner  of  the  table, 
looking  down  earnestly  at  the  other.  "  They've 
got  to  understand  that  we  mean  business.  And 
say,  look,  here,  Crosman;  what  are  we  sitting 
here  talking  about  this  for?  Why  aren't  we 
doing  it  to-night?" 


2o8  THE  WHIP   HAND 

Crosman's  expression  dropped  from  serious 
to  dismal.  "Why— why— all  right." 

"Sorry  if  I'm  butting  into  any  plans  of  yours, 
but  good  Lord,  old  man,  have  you  stopped  to 
think  what  this  means?  Here  I'd  got  my  mind 
settled  on  to-morrow  when  I  ought  to  have  known 
all  the  while  that  to-day  was  the  time.  We'll  do 
it  now.  You  look  up  the  boys  on  that  paper  and 
I'll  root  mine  out  and  have  them  bring  the  hose 
over.  We'll  get  everything  in  shape  before  we  go 
to  bed." 

The  assistant  was  caught  up  and  whirled  along 
by  Halloran's  energy.  "All  right,"  he  repeated. 
"But  I  ought  to  call  Mamie  up.  She's — she's — 
I  was  thinking  of  going  around  there." 

"Use  my  telephone.  Excuse  me  if  I  start 
right  out,  won't  you?" 

Before  Crosman  could  stammer  a  "Certainly," 
he  had  snatched  up  his  hat  and  disappeared. 

Disagreeable  as  rush  orders  might  be  to  a  man 
with  his  family  about  him  of  an  evening,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said ;  and  within  an  hour  some 
were  starting  out  for  duty  on  watch,  or  for  a  night 
on  one  of  the  steamers,  while  others  dragged  the 
hose-reel  out  of  the  town  and  across  the  bridge 
to  the  yards  and  put  it  in  order  for  instant  use. 
When  the  preparations  were  completed,  toward 
eleven  o'clock,  Halloran  called  the  men  together 
and  gave  them  their  final  instructions. 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      209 

Crosman  and  he  were  left  alone  for  a  moment 
when  the  last  man  had  gone  to  his  post. 

"Well — that's  a  good  job  done,"  observed 
the  assistant.  "I  guess  there's  nothing  more,  is 
there?" 

"No—  Oh,  yes ;  one  thing.  I've  thought  a 
good  deal  about  the  south  end.  The  yard's 
narrow  there  for  quite  a  way  and  there's  no  fire- 
plug at  that  end."  They  were  walking  through 
the  gate  and  toward  the  bridge.  "It's  the  least 
likely  place  to  catch  first,  because  there's  water 
on  three  sides,  but  if  it  should  there's  only  one 
thing  we  could  do.  Look  here  !  Under  the  town 
end  of  the  bridge — I'll  show  you  when  we  get 
there — I've  hung  a  tin  pail  with  matches  and 
fuses  in  it,  where  it  won't  be  disturbed  and  it's 
likely  to  keep  dry.  And  about  fifty  yards  down 
the  bank  there's  some  dynamite  in  another  pail 
under  the  water.  I've  put  a  sign  on  a  post  to 
scare  the  boys  away.  There,  see  that  white 
thing?  That's  it!  I  couldn't  keep  the  stuff 
home  or  in  the  yards,  and  there,  I  think,  is  about 
the  safest  place.  You  see,  if  either  of  us  should 
be  running  out  here  we  could  just  turn  off  the 
road  a  little  way  and  pick  up  the  two  pails.  It's 
on  Higginson  land  and  I  don't  believe  any  one 
can  object." 

They  went  down  together  to  see  that  the  pails 
had  not  been  molested.  "I've  given  orders," 


210  THE  WHIP   HAND 

said  Halloran,  "to  several  of  the  boys  to  come 
down  here  every  time  they  pass  and  report  if 
any  thing's  wrong." 

Crosman  was  aroused  by  the  work  of  the  eve- 
ning. ' '  Well, ' '  he  burst  out,  as  they  were  climbing 
the  fence  and  taking  the  road  again,  ' '  I  must  say 
you've  just  about  covered  the  ground.  I  don't 
know  of  anything  more  we  could  do. " 

"I  don't  know — I  feel  a  little  better,  anyway. 
I'll  walk  along  to  the  house  with  you,  if  you're 
going  that  way." 

"Well— I'll  tell  you— I— I'm  not,  exactly.  I 
kind  of  said 

"  Going  to  stop  around  at  the  Higginsons',  eh?" 

"I  thought  I  might,  if " 

"All  right;  good-night.  Look  out  that  they 
don't  shoot  you  for  a  burglar.  But,  say ;  hold  on 
a  minute.  Has  the  crisis  come  yet  with — with 
Mr.  Higginson?" 

"No;  they  expect  it  to-morrow.  Doctor 
McArthur  came  up  from  Chicago  this  afternoon, 
and  the  other  one,  the  Detroit  doctor,  gets  in  late 
to-night.  Mamie's  waiting  up  for  him. " 

"Thanks.     Good-night." 

The  following  afternoon,  as  Halloran  was 
closing  his  desk,  Captain  Craig  came  in. 

"  I've  had  a  little  talk  with  Jennie  this  noon, 
Mr.  Halloran.  I  had  to  explain  to  her  about 
things,  and  how  you  felt  a  little  delicate  about  it, 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      2 1 1 

and  she  told  me  the  whole  thing.  You  see,  it's 
considerable  of  a  story." 

Halloran  closed  the  door  and  drew  up  a  chair. 
"Sit  down,  Captain." 

"Well,  now,  it  all  goes  back  to  a  few  months 
after  Lizzie  was  married.  Le  Due  wasn't  doing 
very  well  and  he  made  it  pretty  uncomfortable 
for  Jennie,  talking  about  supporting  her  and  that 
sort  of  thing;  and  finally  one  day  he  asked  her  if 
she  didn't  have  letters  or  anything  that  could 
make  it  worth  while  to  see  Bigelow.  Jennie' d 
never  have  done  anything  in  the  world,  no  matter 
though  the  alimony  had  been  allowed  her  by  the 
courts;  she  always  had  a  horror  of  going  to  law 
about  it.  But  Le  Due  was  hard  pushed,  and  I 
guess  she  was  glad  to  do  anything  that  would 
make  things  easier  for  all  of  them,  so  she  let  him 
have  Bigelow' s  letters — most  of  them  promising 
to  send  money.  They  were  all,  she  says,  plain 
evidence  that  he  hadn't  paid  her." 

Halloran  was  sitting  far  back  in  his  chair,  his 
hands  clasped  around  one  knee,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  desk.  And  while  the  Captain  talked,  his 
thoughts  were  running  swiftly  backward  and 
forward  and  all  around  this  interesting  subject. 
He  was  hearing  what  he  had  most  wished  to  hear. 

"And  so  Le  Due  went  out  to  Evanston  one 
night  to  see  him,  and  they  were  all  excited  about 
it,  Jennie  says.  But  after  that  things  took  a 


212  THE  WHIP   HAND 

change.  Le  Due  wouldn't  say  much  about  it — • 
he  acted  a  little  queer — but  he  sort  of  made  her 
think  nothing  was  coming  of  it.  And  then,  a 
little  later,  he  got  a  job,  nobody  seemed  to  know 
just  what — and  moved  over  to  where  they  are 
now.  And  he  let  Jennie  and  the  McGinnis  boy 
understand  that  they  could  come  with  them  if 
they  would  pay  a  rather  high  board.  Oh,  he's 
a—  Craig  thought  it  better  to  pause,  and 

turned  his  thoughts  away  from  the  meanness  of 
his  son-in-law.  He  went  on  with  better  control. 
"Of  course  Jennie  couldn't  do  that,  so  they  went 
without  her.  And  Jennie  was  so  timid  about  it 
all  she  didn't  even  like  to  ask  for  her  letters  back. " 

"And  Apples  has  them  still?" 

"Yes;  he's  got  them." 

"And  is  that  all  she  knows?"  Halloran  could 
not  keep  a  little  disappointment  out  of  his  voice. 

"Yes,  that's  the  whole  thing.  He's  been  keep- 
ing his  mouth  shut  up  tight  about  the  whole 
business.  It  pretty  nearly  tells  the  story,  don't 
you  think?" 

"  Why,  yes,  in  a  way.  It's  not  quite  enough  to 
move  on,  I'm  afraid.  But  I'll  have  to  think  it 
over;  and  maybe  I  can  see  a  way  through.  We 
don't  know  yet  that  G.  Hyde  is  behind  that 
corner — but  I'm  much  obliged,  Captain." 

"  You're  welcome. " 

The  Captain  hurried  home  to  have  a  few  hours 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      213 

with  his  family,  for  now  that  Halloran's  "fire 
department"  was  organized  he  was  sleeping,  by 
choice,  on  his  steamer. 

It  was  two  o'clock  the  next  morning.  Crosman 
was  far,  far  away,  coasting  down  the  joyous  hills 
of  dreamland.  A  laughing  girl  was  at  his  side. 
She  could  not  play  long  with  him,  for  dimly  he 
understood  that  the  doctors  were  coming,  and  she 
must  be  at  her  post  to  welcome  them.  It  would 
never  do  for  the  doctors  to  come  and  find  no 
greeting  from  Mamie.  But  dreamland  was  bright 
to-night — the  Little  Folk  were  out  in  force, 
dancing  like  thistle-down  over  the  Queen  Anne's 
lace,  or  coasting  with  him  down  the  starry  slopes, 
a  half-dozen  on  his  back,  more  at  his  ears  whistling 
gaily  that  Mamie  was  true — Blue  for  true  ! — Blue 
for  true ! — and  hundreds  of  the  maddest  fellows 
capering  on  ahead,  bounding  and  blowing  from 
blossom  to  blossom.  One  danced  far  before, 
clad  in  a  purple  sweater  and  bearing  a  whistle. 
Now  and  again  he  blew  a  blast,  daintily  at  first, 
like  the  signal  of  mint  to  the  bees,  then  louder 
and  shriller  and  shriller.  It  screeched  hoarsely  in 
his  ears;  a  cold  wind  nipped  at  his  legs  and  feet; 
the  Little  Folk  were  swarming  around  him,  all 
in  purple  now,  shouting  wildly,  urging  him  on — 
on — hurry — hurry  !  The  whistle  was  deeper  and 
hoarser — where  was  he — where ? 


2i4  THE  WHIP   HAND 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  the  centre  of  the  floor. 
Through  the  open  window  came  the  deep  whistle 
of  the  Number  One. 

In  ten  seconds  he  had  tumbled  into  his  trousers. 
Five  more,  and  his  boots  were  on.  Another  ten, 
and  he  was  banging  down  the  stairs  and  out  the 
door,  leaving  it  open  behind  him — and  struggling 
into  his  coat  as  he  ran.  He  could  not  guess  how 
long  the  whistle  had  been  sounding ;  but  there  was 
as  yet  no  light  in  the  sky  above  the  yards.  He 
must  be  on  time:  it  lay  with  him  to  set  an 
example  to  the  men.  His  side  was  aching  already, 
but  he  ran  it  down.  As  he  drew  near  to  the 
bridge  he  came  out  in  full  view  of  the  yards,  but 
could  see  no  light.  Perhaps  he  was  early— per- 
haps the  fire  was  starting  on  the  river  side.  He 
thought  of  the  dynamite,  and  with  a  bound  was 
over  the  fence  and  running  down  to  the  water. 
A  moment  more  and  he  was  making  for  the  bridge, 
pail  in  hand.  As  he  paused  here  he  heard  some  one 
running  across,  above  him;  and  farther  off  were 
shouts  and  the  sounds  of  running.  The  Number 
One  was  still  whistling. 

Over  the  bridge  he  went,  a  tin  pail  in  each  hand ; 
around  the  corner  of  the  fence  and  on  to  the  open 
gate.  He  was  dashing  through  when  he  was 
hailed  by  a  familiar  voice. 

There,  sitting  on  a  projecting  plank  of  the 
nearest  lumber-pile,  was  Halloran,  a  lantern 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      2 1 5 

in  one  hand,  his  watch  in  the  other.  Grouped 
around  him  were  half  a  dozen  panting  men. 

"All  right,  Crosman.  False  alarm.  But 
you've  made  bully  time—  Look  out,  there !" 

This  last  was  addressed  to  Du  Bois,  who  came 
whirling  around  the  gate-post  and  crashed  full- 
tilt  into  Crosman.  The  assistant  staggered,  but 
recovered  his  balance ;  and  the  two  sat  down  with 
the  others.  The  men  came  bounding  in  until 
fully  thirty  were  there — more  by  five  or  six  than 
had  been  engaged.  Halloran  threw  the  light  of 
his  lantern  on  them. 

"  Time's  up, "  he  said.  "  Where's  Potin  ?"  [pro- 
nounced Pot'n.] 

No  one  answered,  but  after  a  moment  the 
missing  Canadian  appeared. 

"You're  late,"  said  Halloran.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

The  man  had  to  pause  to  breathe.  "It  took 
me  a  m-min-ute,  Mister  Halloran.  I — I  guess  I 
didn't  hear  the  first  whistle." 

"We  need  better  ears  than  yours,  then.  We 
can't  use  you  after  this.  Runyon" — turning  to 
one  of  the  promptest  of  the  outsiders — "I'll  take 
you  on  in  Potin's  place.  We  don't  pay  men  to 
sleep.  That's  all  now,  boys.  You  can  go  home. " 

But  now  that  they  were  aroused  there  was  a 
tendency  to  wait  and  talk  it  over. 

"What  you  got  in  them  pails,  Mr.  Crosman?" 


2i6  THE  WHIP   HAND 

called  Du  Bois.  "  Did  you  forget  and  bring  your 
lunch?" 

"No;  it's  dynamite."  In  a  conversational 
tone. 

"It's  what?  Say,  you're  fooling!"  He  drew 
back  as  he  spoke.  The  other  men  looked  at  one 
another. 

For  reply  Crosman  produced  a  brown  cylinder. 

"  Good  Lord  !     And  I  run  into  that ! " 

In  another  moment  Halloran  and  Crosman 
were  alone.  Down  the  alleys,  between  the  piles, 
around  the  mill,  out  the  gate — for  every  hole  a 
man  could  squeeze  through  was  abruptly  pressed 
into  service — the  men  had  disappeared.  And 
when  the  noise  of  the  scampering  feet  had  died 
away,  Halloran  said,  with  a  chuckle:  "Here's 
Du  Bois's  hat.  I'll  take  it  along."  The  next 
morning  he  found  him  on  the  wharf.  ' '  You  didn't 
stop  for  your  hat  last  night,  Du  Bois.  I  guess 
you  were  called  away  suddenly." 

The  Inspector  accepted  the  hat  and  pulled  it 
on,  drew  out  his  tobacco-pouch,  bit  a  half-moon 
from  his  plug,  tucked  it  away  in  his  cheek,  and 
swept  his  eyes  quizzically  around  the  harbour. 
"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Halloran;  that's  all  right," 
he  observed,  discharging  a  preliminary  brown 
streak.  "I  s'pose  I've  got  to  go  up  against  old 
Salt  Peter  some  day  or  other,  but  if  I'm  goin'  to 
have  anything  to  say  about  it  myself  I'd  a  heap 


A  TALK  WITH  CAPTAIN  CRAIG      2 1 7 

rather  go  up  whole.  If  I  was  to  come  an  arm  or  a 
leg  at  a  time  he  might  think  it  was  old  G.  Hyde 
Bigelow  try  in'  to  fool  him  in  sections,  and  the 
first  thing  I  knew  he'd  be  sayin',  'Bigelow,  you 
darned  old  pile  o'  culls,  there's  a  line  o'  little 
red  divils  down  there  a-sittin'  up  nights  for  you. 
Git  along!"1 


CHAPTER  II 
GOING  TO  HEADQUARTERS 

HALLORAN  had  not  yet  exhausted  his  resources 
in  getting  at  the  facts  behind  the  corn  deal. 
There  was  one  person  who  probably  could,  if  he 
would,  carry  the  story  further,  and  that  was 
Jimmie  McGinnis.  And  so  Halloran  decided  to 
run  down  to  Chicago. 

The  Captain,  when  he  heard  of  it,  came  to  see 
him.  "  Harry  Crosman  says  you're  going  down 
to  the  city,  Mr.  Halloran." 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  take  the  night  train. " 

"When  I  told  Jennie  about  it  she  wondered  if 
you'd  be  going  anywhere  near  Lizzie's  place." 

"I  can,  easily  enough." 

"Jennie,  you  see,  has  been  sort  of  looking  for 
some  word  from  her  this  week,  and  there  ain't 
none  come  yet,  and  would  you  mind  taking  along 
a  little  bundle  for  Lizzie,  and  maybe  a  note?" 

"Not  a  bit.  You'll  have  them  here  before 
supper  time,  won't  you?" 

"Yes;  surely." 

And  so  it  fell  out  that  Halloran  boarded  the 
train  that  night  with  the  bundle  under  his  arm. 

218 


GOING  TO   HEADQUARTERS        219 

His  trip  was  to  be  as  short  as  he  could  make  it,  for 
he  did  not  like  to  be  away  at  this  time.  Full 
instructions  were  left  with  his  assistant;  and  his 
post  as  amateur  fire  marshal  was  assigned  to  the 
Captain  during  his  absence. 

Jimmie,  it  seemed,  had  been  with  the  Le  Dues 
until  the  change.  Where  to  find  him  now  was  a 
question,  or  it  would  have  been  if  his  eye  had  not 
alighted  on  the  name  " Elmer  Le  Due"  in  the 
evening  paper,  among  the  attractions  advertised 
by  a  Clark  Street  vaudeville  theatre.  He 
reached  Chicago  in  the  morning,  and  in 
the  afternoon  dropped  around  to  the  theatre. 
From  the  display  of  the  name  in  five-inch 
letters  on  the  bill-boards  of  a  downtown 
continuous  performance  it  was  to  be  inferred 
that  Jimmie  was  getting  on  in  the  world. 
His  position  on  the  programme,  too — toward 
three  o'clock — and  the  little  burst  of  applause 
that  followed  the  appearance  of  his  name 
on  the  announcement  card  at  the  side  of  the 
stage,  aided  the  impression.  And  finally,  when 
the  familiar  wizen-faced,  thin-legged  boy,  as 
undersized  as  ever,  appeared,  shouted  out  the 
preliminary  song  of  his  specialty,  and  fell  into  a 
long  and  wonderfully  intricate  dance,  there  was 
no  doubting  he  had  popped  into  favour.  When 
he  had  disappeared,  after  the  third  recall,  and  the 
next  turn  was  announced,  Halloran  slipped  out 


220  THE  WHIP   HAND 

'and  strolled  a  few  steps  up  the  alley  that  led  to 
the  stage-door. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  a  large,  coarse- 
featured  young  woman,  wearing  a  rakish  French 
costume,  came  out  into  the  alley ;  and  behind  her, 
barely  reaching  to  her  shoulder,  in  the  unfamiliar 
get-up  of  a  light  suit,  a  wide-brimmed  pearl-gray 
hat,  tan  shoes,  and  a  bamboo  stick,  appeared 
Jimmie.  They  started  to  walk  off  together,  but 
at  Halloran's  hail  the  young  man  turned. 

"  How  are  you, "  he  said  with  a  nod,  somewhat 
as  if  their  last  meeting  had  been  but  a  few  hours 
earlier.  "  Want  to  speak  to  me  ? " 

At  Halloran's  affirmative,  he  left  the  woman, 
who  stared  at  Halloran  as  she  waited. 

"  Been  to  the  show  ? "  asked  Jimmie.  "  Got  'em 
cold,  ain't  I  ?  I  always  told  Le  Due  I  could  do  it 
the  minute  I  got  a  chance  at  a  big  house. " 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,  Jimmie.  Won't 
you  have  dinner  with  me  to-night  at  the 
Auditorium?" 

1 '  Dinner,  eh  ?     What  time  ? ' ' 

"Half-past  six." 

"  I  suppose  so.  You  see  I  was  goin'  with  Jane — 
that's  Jane  Scott,  you  know;  greatest  character 
singer  and  dancer  on  the  stage.  We're  goin'  to 
be  married  next  week,  and  I'm  sorter  supposed 
to  hang  around  her  most  of  the  time.  But  I  guess 
I  can  make  it.  Any  thin'  doin'  ? " 


GOING  TO   HEADQUARTERS        221 

"  Nothing  very  much.  I'll  look  for  you,  then, 
at  half -past  six,  in  the  main  office." 

The  dinner  hour  had  come  before  Halloran 
could  stop  wondering  over  the  idea  of  Jimmie 
McGinnis  marrying.  When  they  were  seated 
together  at  a  quiet  table  he  spoke  of  it. 

" So  you're  going  to  be  married,  Jimmie?" 

"  Yes;  sure.  But  say,  they  ain't  callin'  me  that 
no  more.  I'm  Elmer  Le  Due  now,  you  know." 

"Aren't  you  starting  in  rather  young?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  for  a  man  in  the  profession.  You 
see,  Jane's  husband " 

"Her  husband!" 

"Yes.  He's  a  skate,  you  see — lushes.  He's  a 
fool,  too,  'cause  Jane's  kind-hearted,  and  she'd 
a-gone  right  on  supportin'  him  if  he'd  a-treated 
her  half  decent.  She  can  haul  in  her  hundred 
and  twenty -five  every  week  in  the  year — regular 
gold-mine.  And  a  man  that  ain't  got  head 
enough  to  hold  on  to  a  thing  like  that  'ad  better 
drop  off.  We've  been  talkin'  it  over,  Jane  an' 
me,  ever  since  I  made  my  hit.  You  see,  she's  got 
a  two-part  skit  that  calls  for  a  small  man,  smaller'n 
her,  a  part  I  can  walk  right  into ;  an'  I  thought  it 
over  an'  told  her  I'd  marry  her  an'  manage  the 
business.  She's  told  me  since,  she  knew  the 
minute  she  struck  me  that  I  was  her  man.  It's  a 
good  thing  for  both  of  us,  you  see.  We  can  clear 
up  two  hundred  a  week  easy,  and  our  expenses 


222  THE  WHIP   HAND 

won't  be  near  so  much.  I  told  her  I'd  put  up  the 
cash  for  her  divorce.  It's  such  a  sure  case  that 
it  ain't  costin'  a  great  lot.  Of  course,  I  don't 
need  to  marry  her,  but  the  savin'  in  doublin'  up 
on  hotel  an'  sleeper  bills  '11  more'n  pay  for  the 
divorce  the  first  year. " 

Halloran  looked  at  Jimmie,  shook  his  head,  and 
then  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  And  Jimmie  had 
to  grin  a  little,  too. 

It  had  been  a  question  how  to  open  the  next 
subject.  Halloran  knew  that,  wherever  there 
was  a  choice  of  ways  to  an  end,  one  open  and 
direct,  the  other  tortuous  and  subterranean, 
Jimmie 's  mind  would  instinctively  seek  the 
latter.  He  thought  he  had  better  slip  easily 
from  the  one  subject  to  the  other;  for  if  the 
boy  were  to  suspect  him  of  any  strong  desire 
to  inform  himself  concerning  Le  Due  he 
would  most  likely  draw  back,  from  sheer 
perversity,  into  his  shell. 

"  You  say  you're  known  as  Le  Due  now  ?  Didn't 
you  travel  with  them  for  awhile?" 

"  Yes;  but  it  wouldn't  go.  Too  much  madam 
there.  Let  me  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Halloran. 
Don't  you  ever  go  into  partnership  with  a  man 
and  his  wife.  It's  hell  on  wheels." 

"They  didn't  get  on  well,  then?" 

"No;  the  only  payin'  thing  in  the  combination 
was  the  name.  Le  Due's  one  of  the  best  names 


GOING  TO   HEADQUARTERS        223 

in  the  profession,  an'  he's  been  more'n  square 
about  lettin'  me  go  on  an'  use  it. " 

"I  saw  them  a  little  while  ago  at  their  hotel. 
He  seems  to  have  struck  a  good  thing  now. " 

"Yes,  they  say  he's  a  big  man  on  the  Board. " 

"How  did  he  ever  get  into  it?  There  must 
be  somebody  behind  him." 

Jimmie  fingered  his  fork  and  looked  up  with  an 
expressionless  face.  "Is  they?"  he  asked. 

Halloran  tried  again.  "  I  don't  know,  but  I'm 
inclined  to  think  there's  more  in  it  than  the  papers 
say."  f 

Jimmie,  for  some  reason,  chose  to  give  no 
information  whatever  on  this  question.  And 
Halloran  had  the  questionable  pleasure  of  bidding 
him  good-evening  in  the  consciousness  that  he  was 
no  nearer  what  he  wanted  to  know  than  he  had 
been  in  Wauchung.  The  next  step  was  a  matter 
of  careful  thinking;  he  was  not  even  sure  that 
there  could  be  a  next  step.  Meantime,  he  had 
an  errand  at  the  Le  Dues',  and  as  it  was  not  yet 
eight  o'clock  he  decided  to  run  up  there. 

The  great  event  had  taken  place  in  the  Le  Due 
household.  And  when  Halloran  was  shown  into 
the  apartment,  he  found  a  happy  father  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  dancing  about  a  small  white  bundle 
on  the  sofa,  a  beaming  mother  also  in  dishabille, 
and  a  simpering  nurse-maid.  Apples  was  cordial, 
merry,  expansive ;  he  was  delighted  to  see  his  old 


224  THE  WHIP   HAND 

friend  Halloran — fairly  dragged  him  in.  Good 
stories  and  playful  allusions  were  continually 
rising  in  his  mind  and  finding  expression.  He 
was  boisterously  demonstrative,  and  given  to 
squeezing  his  wife's  hand  or  slipping  his  arm 
around  her  as  his  tongue  rattled  along. 

Halloran  delivered  his  message  and  his  bundle, 
and  finally,  when  he  had  been  made  to  say  all 
that  there  is  to  be  said  about  some  other  man's 
infant,  the  mother  and  nurse  took  it  away  and 
left  the  two  men  to  smoke  and  chat. 

After  a  time  there  came  a  pause.  And  then 
an  idea  that  had  been  floating  in  Halloran' s  mind 
since  his  disappointment  with  Jimmie  took 
sudden  form. 

"How  do  you  like  working  with  Bigelow?" 
he  asked,  without  the  slighest  change  of  expres- 
sion, knocking  the  ash  off  his  cigar  as  he  spoke. 
And  Apples  took  the  bait. 

"First  rate.  He's  a  driver,  but  he's  got  a 
great  head  on  him. " 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  used  to  work  for  him  myself, 
out  in  Evanston.  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever 
done  much  on  the  Board  before  this  deal." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  he  has. "  A  peculiar  expres- 
sion was  coming  into  Le  Due's  face.  "Who  told 
you  about  it  ? "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I've  always  known  more  or  less  of  his 
movements.  He  was  hit  rather  hard  in  Kentucky 


GOING  TO   HEADQUARTERS        225 

Coal  a  little  while  back,  but  I  suppose  this  corner 
will  more  than  square  that,  if  it  goes  through. " 

Le  Due  smiled.  "  Don't  you  worry  about  that. 
I  guess  that  coal  business  is  nothing  he  can't 
stand.  A  momentary  change  of  opinion  doesn't 
alter  the  fact  that  there's  just  as  much  coal  there 
as  there  ever  was." 

"I  suppose  there  is — just  as  much." 

Le  Due  was  looking  not  quite  comfortable. 
"Of  course,"  he  began,  "there  are  times  with 
every  man  whose  interests  are  spread  out 
widely—  But  this  wouldn't  do.  He  was 

blundering  deeper  and  deeper  into  some  sort 
of  a  trap,  and  not  wholly  grasping  the  situation, 
he  decided  to  keep  still. 

Halloran  had  learned  enough.  His  trip  to 
Chicago  was  not  to  be  a  failure,  after  all.  He 
had  learned  so  much,  in  fact,  that  when  he  was 
back  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  and  could  sit  down 
and  think  it  all  over,  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason 
for  delay  in  turning  his  information  to  account. 
Over  and  over  again  that  night  he  considered 
his  case:  he  tested  it  from  every  point  of  view  to 
assure  himself  of  its  soundness;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing, instead  of  heading  for  Wauchung,  he  wired 
Crosman  that  he  would  return  by  way  of  the 
lumbering  town  of  Corrigan,  the  seat  of  the 
Corrigan  mills,  in  the  upper  peninsula.  The 
Corrigans  were  among  the  largest  owners  in  the 


226  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"combine";  and  if  they  were  as  tired  of  losing 
money  as  he  believed,  they  would  doubtless  be 
glad  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

It  was  an  eight-hour  ride  from  Chicago  to 
Corrigan,  and  evening  was  so  near  when  he 
arrived  that  he  went  directly  to  his  hotel  for  some 
dinner,  and  made  arrangements  by  telephone  to 
see  the  younger  Mr.  Corrigan  at  his  home  in  the 
evening. 

"I  don't  know  that  we  have  ever  met,  Mr. 
Corrigan, "  Halloran  said,  when  the  two  men  were 
closeted.  "I  am  with  Higginson  &  Company, 
of  Wauchung.  Your  company  and  ours  have  not 
agreed,  so  far,  in  our  attitude  toward  G.  Hyde 
Bigelow.  Mr.  Higginson  refused  his  offers  at  the 
start  because  we  had  reason  to  distrust  him. 
We  know  now  that  we  were  right. " 

Corrigan  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise. 
"If  you  have  any  charges  to  make  against  Mr. 
Bigelow  you  should  see  him,  not  me. " 

"  I  have  no  charges,  Mr.  Corrigan,  but  I  rather 
think  you  have.  I've  come  here  to  lay  them 
before  you  and  leave  you  free  to  push  them  or 
not,  as  you  choose.  As  I  understand  it,  when 
this  combination  was  organized,  Mr.  Bigelow 
was  generally  thought  to  be  a  responsible  man. 
We  didn't  believe  it,  so  we  stood  out  rather  than 
have  him  direct  our  business.  Since  that  time 
he  has  got  into  such  difficulties  with  his  Kentucky 


GOING  TO   HEADQUARTERS        227 

investments  that  in  order  to  raise  money  he 
has  taken  to  speculating  heavily  on  the  Board  of 
Trade.  He  is  operating  the  big  corn  deal  through 
the  man  named  Le  Due. " 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  don't  see— 

He  paused,  and  Halloran  went  on:  "You 
understand,  Mr.  Corrigan,  that  our  position  is 
what  it  was  at  the  start — we  are  against  this 
combination.  And  if  I  didn't  believe  that  you 
are  going  to  be  against  it,  too,  I  shouldn't  be  here. 
I  think  you'll  agree  with  me  that  if  what  I  say  is 
true,  Mr.  Bigelow  is  not  a  man  to  trust. " 

"If  it  is  true " 

"And  there  is  a  way  to  prove  it.  I  suggest 
that  at  the  meeting,  which  comes,  I  believe,  next 
month,  you  lay  these  charges  before  Mr.  Bigelow, 
without  warning,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  explain. 
You  are  at  liberty  to  say  that  I  gave  you  the 
information." 

This  was  all  he  had  come  to  say,  and  he  was  so 
sure  of  its  effect  that  he  was  willing  to  leave  it 
and  give  the  seed  time  to  grow.  But  Corrigan 
was  aroused. 

"This — this  amounts  to  saying  that  Bigelow  is 
secretly  plunging  on  the  Board." 

"It  certainly  does." 

"And  this  Le  Due,  who  is  he?" 

"He's  a  cheap  actor  who  married  Bigelow's 
daughter." 


228  THE   WHIP   HAND 

"His  daughter!  His  oldest  child  is  not  a 
dozen  years  old." 

"By  his  present  wife,  yes.  But  he's  been 
married  before.'* 

"I'll  think  this  over,  Mr.  Halloran;  I'll  think 
it  over." 

Halloran  rose.  "  I  came  up  here  from  Chicago 
to  tell  you  that  Bigelow  is  unsound.  The  sooner 
everybody  connected  with  the  Michigan  lumber 
business  finds  it  out  the  better  for  the  business. 
Good-night." 

"Good-night,  sir." 


CHAPTER  III 
MR.  BABCOCK'S  LAST  CARD 

As  the  feat  of  riding  thirty  horses  around  a 
circus  hippodrome  calls  for  the  highest  strength 
and  skill,  so  the  task  of  guiding  the  complicated 
affairs  of  Bigelow  &  Company  through  the  diffi- 
culties that  threatened  them  demanded  sound 
character  and  experience.  For  a  time  the  Bige- 
low ventures  had  shown  a  persistent  upward 
tendency,  and  the  head  of  the  firm  had  then 
made  an  imposing  figure,  but  a  fair-weather  man 
was  hardly  adequate  now.  Kentucky  Coal  had 
slumped  alarmingly ;  New  Freighters  had  perhaps 
been  overrated ;  and  booming  suburban  real  estate 
was  discovering  unexpected  inertia  where  abnor- 
mal growth  had  been  gambled  on.  But  the  most 
disturbing  element  was  the  lumber  fight.  That 
Higginson  &  Company  could  not  only  hold  out 
until  the  meeting,  but  could  actually  get  the 
better  of  the  Trust,  had  not  been  foreseen. 
Questions  would  be  asked  at  this  meeting :  there 
might  even  be  some  tension.  And  so  it  was 
that  Mr.  Bigelow  was  not  joking  much  nowadays. 
And  so  it  was  that  Mr.  Babcock  took  his 
grip  from  behind  the  door  and  went  to  Wauchung. 

229 


230  THE   WHIP   HAND 

The  air  blew  keen  from  the  West  as  Mr.  Babcock 
walked  swiftly  out  toward  the  Wauchung  bridge. 
It  was  a  crisp,  invigorating  breeze,  with  the 
strength  of  the  lake  in  it,  and  a  faint  odour  of 
pine.  Men  grow  rugged  and  hardy  in  this  region, 
whether  they  follow  blaze-marks  or  mariner's 
compass.  No  malaria  oozes  from  the  dry  white 
sand;  the  children  rather  draw  from  it  the  sap 
that  makes  the  pine  tree  tall  and  sound.  If  you 
had  strayed  into  the  forest  in  the  earlier  time  of 
reckless  cutting ;  if  you  had  stood  under  the  tight 
green  roof  on  a  scented  rug  of  needles,  finer  than 
ever  came  from  India,  and  listened  to  the  song 
of  the  shanty-boy  as  he  struck  his  peavey  into  a 
bleeding  trunk,  could  you  have  wondered  at  the 
lilt  in  his  melody,  at  the  vigour,  even  the  harshness 
in  his  voice?  Stand  near  a  mill-race  and  watch 
the  "boys"  racing  down,  each  balanced  on  a 
single  careening  log,  and  you  will  have  a  glimpse 
of  the  sort  of  men  G.  Hyde  Bigelow  &  Company 
were  fighting. 

Mr.  Babcock  passed  the  last  straggling  build- 
ings of  Wauchung' s  main  street  and  found  himself 
in  full  view  of  the  bridge,  the  river  and  the 
lumber-yards.  The  sight  did  not  please  him, 
apparently,  for  he  paused  with  knit  brows  to 
take  it  in.  Beyond,  showing  here  and  there,  lay 
the  harbour,  glistening  in  the  cool  light — and 
beyond  the  harbour  the  bald  dunes  and  the  lake. 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD       231 

The  sky  was  blue,  frayed  here  and  there  into  ends 
of  white  clouds — the  glorious  northern  sky, 
matched  only  in  the  air  of  Naples  or  Touraine. 
But  Mr.  Babcock  was  not  looking  at  the  sky. 
His  soul  was  tuned  to  lower  things — to  lumber, 
for  instance,  heaps  of  it,  piles  of  it,  rows  of  it, 
stretched  for  hundreds  of  yards  along  the  river, 
and  across  the  peninsula,  and  along  the  edge  of 
the  harbour.  The  mills  were  silent;  the  watch- 
men were  not  to  be  seen ;  the  only  sign  of  life  was 
the  smoke  curling  from  the  funnels  of  the  Number 
One,  where  Robbie  MacGregor  was  dozing  on 
the  engine-room  bench  and  hourly  growing  fatter. 
Six  million  feet  of  lumber  greeted  the  eye  of  the 
man  from  Chicago,  as  he  looked — and  looked. 
It  was  new  lumber,  bought  by  experts,  every 
stick  of  it  such  as  would  command  a  good  price 
when  the  owners  should  throw  it  on  the  market, 
as  they  certainly  would  sooner  or  later.  He  shook 
his  head  and  hurried  on. 

He  found  Halloran  at  the  office  and  shook 
hands  cordially.  Crosman  heard  the  name, 
looked  blank,  recollected  himself,  and  slipped 
out. 

''Well,  you've  got  a  great  lot  of  lumber  here, 
Mr.  Halloran,"  Babcock  began  softly,  glancing 
out  the  window. 

"Yes— a  good  deal." 

"How  much  can  you  keep  in  the  yards  here?" 


232  THE   WHIP  HAND 

"We  have  about  twenty-five  million  feet  in 
now." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !    Your  own  cutting?  " 

"Only  part  of  it." 

"  You've  been — er — buying  in  the  market,  eh  ? " 

"Yes,  all  we  could  get."  He  could  not  resist 
adding,  "It's  been  a  good  time  to  buy." 

"Yes,  so  it  has,  so  it  has.  I  suppose  you're 
holding  this  lot  for  a  better  price?" 

Halloran  nodded.  His  eyes  were  searching 
the  face  of  his  caller.  Babcock  paused  to  gather 
his  forces,  then  settled  back  in  his  chair. 

"I  feel  like  telling  you,  Mr.  Halloran,  that 
you've  done  a  mighty  neat  piece  of  work.  To 
tell  the  truth,  it's  been  a  surprise  to  us  to  see 
how  well  you've  carried  this  business.  Your  fame 
now" — he  leaned  forward  and  dropped  his  voice 
to  a  confidential  pitch — "your  fame  now,  how- 
ever, rests  even  more  on  the  way  you've  stuck  to 
your  employer's  interests  than  on  the  cleverness 
of  what  you've  done.  There  are  clever  men 
enough,  but  down  in  Chicago  we  don't  see  any 
too  many  honest  ones." 

"No,  I  suppose  you  don't." 

"This  fight  has  been  expensive,  but  it's  taught 
us  one  lesson,  I  think.  When  we  organized  the 
lumber  producers  we  tried  to  get  all  the  good 
firms  into  it.  We  succeeded  with  every  one 
but  Higginson  &  Company.  By  the  facts  of  the 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD      233 

case  we  were  forced  to  antagonize  you,  and  I'll 
tell  you  right  here  we  expected  to  beat  you. 
But  we  haven't  beaten  you.  You've  shown  a 
vitality  that  was  surprising.  And  since  your 
owner,  we  understand,  has  been  dangerously  ill 
for  some  months,  we  are  forced  to  believe  that 
you,  yourself,  Mr.  Halloran,  are  the  real  head  of 
this  business.  Isn't  that  so?  Well,  you  needn't 
answer.  I  understand  your  modesty.  But  there 
are  the  facts.  Well,  now,  sir,  here  we  are,  after 
a  hard  fight,  just  where  we  were  when  we  started. 
I  don't  know  but  what  you  may  be  better  off. 
Anyhow,  you're  the  one  man  that  has  kept  us 
from  doing  what  we  want  to  do.  What  we've 
learned  in  this  experience  is,  that  we  can't  afford 
to  go  on  fighting  Mr.  John  Halloran.  We  need  just 
such  a  man  as  you  on  our  side.  Mr.  Bigelow 
and  I  have  talked  this  all  over,  and  I 
think  we  have  insight  enough  to  know  that 
when  a  rising  man,  a  really  big  man,  comes 
along,  it's  a  heap  sight  better  to  get  on  his 
side.  You  can't  stop  a  man  like  that — he's 
bound  to  rise — and  if  you  don't  keep  his 
good-will  and  confidence,  you  lose.  Now,  we 
want  your  good- will  and  confidence,  Mr.  Halloran. 
I've  got  some  propositions  to  lay  before 

you " 

"  One   moment,    Mr.    Babcock.     If   you   have 
come  to  propose  that  anybody  but  M.  L.  Higgin- 


234  THE  WHIP   HAND 

son  &  Company  conduct  this  business,  you'll  be 
wasting  your  time. " 

Babcock  looked  thoughtful,  then  nimbly 
changed  front.  "We  have  no  concern  in  this 
or  any  business  except  our  own.  But  we  are 
interested  in  men.  There's  no  doubt  about  it, 
Mr.  Halloran — I  know  how  men  feel  all  over 
Michigan — there's  no  doubt  about  it,  you're  the 
coming  man  in  the  lumber  business,  to-day. 
Now,  good  men,  Mr.  Halloran,  command  good 
positions.  Take  this  place  you're  in — it's  a 
salaried  position,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  now" — Mr.  Babcock's  voice  had  dropped 
almost  to  a  whisper,  but  his  intensity,  his  deter- 
mination to  win,  trembled  in  every  note  of  it. 
He  was  smiling.  "Well,  now,  what's  the  use  of 
this,  Mr.  Halloran;  what  future  have  you  here? 
Even  if  you  succeed  Mr.  Higginson?  You  can 
never  be  more  than  he  is,  if  you  stay  here.  But 
once  put  a  man  of  your  caliber  in  a  place  that's 
big  enough  for  him  and  he'll  expand — he'll  fill  it 
—he'll  reach  out  and  up.  In  ten  years,  perhaps, 
you'd  be  at  the  head  of  the  business.  But  you 
ought  to  be  at  the  head  now — then,  in  ten  years, 
you'd  be  in  Chicago  or  New  York,  with  your 
finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  financial  world.  I'm 
here  for  a  reason.  We've  started  in  to  organize 
the  lumber  business  and  nothing  can  stop  us. 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD       235 

It  may  take  time;  we  know  it  will  take  men. 
But  we  aren't  bothering  about  the  time;  we're 
looking  for  the  men.  That's  our  way.  And 
you're  the  man  we  need  to  make  it  go ;  you're  the 
man  that  can  do  it — you  have  a  genius  for  it. 
Now — one  moment — I  told  you  I  had  some 
propositions  to  make  to  you,  and  I'm  ready  to 
make  them." 

He  was  playing  the  last  card  in  the  hand  of 
Bigelow  &  Company,  and  playing  it  beautifully. 
A  few  short  weeks  and  the  meeting  would  be 
upon  them — the  meeting  when  explanations  of 
the  delay  in  completing  the  organization  would 
fall  upon  unsympathetic  ears.  He  was  thinking 
now,  for  one  moment,  with  his  eyes  half  closed. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Halloran,  that  Mr.  Bigelow 
is  the  owner  of  the  Pewaukoe  Mills.  It  is  a  first- 
class  plant  in  every  way — and  slightly  larger  than 
this,  isn't  it?" 

"A  little,   perhaps." 

"  Now,  I  could  make  you  other  propositions, 
but  you  know  the  lumber  business,  and  I  suppose 
you'd  rather  stay  in  it  until  you've  got  your  hand 
worked  in  with  something  a  little  bigger.  I 
offer  you  this:  We'll  put  you  at  the  head  of 
our  Pewaukoe  business,  with  entire  authority, 
subject  only  to  consultation  with  the  firm  on 
matters  of  policy  and  development.  We  want 
you  to  go  in  with  the  idea  that  your  hands  are 


236  THE  WHIP   HAND 

free — that  you  can  stamp  your  own  individuality 
on  the  business.  Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Halloran, 
it's  that  individuality,  that  business  character, 
that  we  want  above  all?  We  want  the  qualities 
that  have  given  you  your  peculiar  success  here. 
As  to  payment,  that  will  be  arranged  easiest  of 
all.  You  know  best  what  you  ought  to  have. 
But  I'll  name  a  figure,  merely  by  way  of  opening 
the  discussion—  He  smiled  again.  "  Suppose 

I  say  we'll  pay  you  a  thousand  dollars  a  year 
more  than  you're  getting  here,  whatever  that 
may  be.  If  that  doesn't  seem  fair,  just  say  so 
We  want  to  enter  these  new  relations  with  the 
feeling  of  perfect  satisfaction  all  around — we 
can't  afford  to  do  it  any  other  way. 

"One  moment—  Don't  commit  yourself 
hurriedly.  This  is  a  matter  for  consideration. 
First  of  all,  let  me  put  that  offer  down  in  writing 
over  our  signature — then  we'll  have  something 
to  work  from.  Will  you  call  your  stenogra- 
pher?" 

"We  have  no  stenographer  here  now.  But  let 
me  say— 

"Well,  I'll  write  it  out — here,  this  letter-paper 
will  do  the  business." 

"Now,  see  here,  we  can't  talk  along  this  line. 
I  haven't  the  slightest  intention  of  leaving 
Higginson  &  Company." 

"I  know — I  know Take  plenty  of  time 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD       237 

to  think  it  over.  I'll  go  ahead  and  put  this  down 
in  black  and  white — 

"No,  Mr.  Babcock.  I  won't  consider  it  at  all. 
I  stay  right  here  at  this  desk." 

Babcock  brought  up  his  reserves.  "You  are 
inclined  to  think,"  he  said,  settling  back  again, 
"that  your  place  is  here  with  Mr.  Higginson?" 

"Decidedly." 

"I  see.  Perhaps  we've  been  working  a  little 
at  cross-purposes.  I  haven't  been  talking  with 
the  idea  of  taking  away  Mr.  Higginson' s  main 
support  at  the  time  he  needs  it  most.  I'm  afraid 
I  haven't  been  looking  at  that  side  of  it  quite 
enough.  You  see,  Mr.  Halloran,  we're  business 
men,  we  of  G.  H.  Bigelow  &  Company.  When 
we  see  a  big  man  in  our  line  we  want  him;  and 
when  we  try  to  get  him,  I  suppose  we  don't 
always  consider  the  other  people  who  want  him, 
too.  We  haven't  time.  But  I'm  glad  you 
brought  the  point  up.  Suppose  we  go  at  it  from 
a  new  point  of  view.  Now,  I  recognize  (and  Mr. 
Bigelow  would  agree  with  me  if  he  were  here) 
that  this  very  attitude  of  yours — this  standing  by 
your  employer  when  he's  a  sick  man — is  the 
quality  in  you  we  like  best.  We've  seen  it  before; 
we've  talked  about  it.  If  you  should  go  back 
on  Mr.  Higginson  now — even  though,  of  course, 
there's  not  the  slightest  legal  hindrance  to  your 
looking  out  for  yourself — how  could  we  know 


238  THE   WHIP   HAND 

you  wouldn't  go  back  on  us  some  day  ?  But  you 
won't  go  back  on  him,  you  see,  and  that's  how 
we  know  more  than  ever  that  you're  the  man 
we're  after.  Now  there's  not  the  slightest  need 
of  any  immediate  change.  We  could  even  date 
your  salary  from  this  moment,  or  back  to  the 
beginning  of  this  month,  without  expecting  you 
to  walk  right  out  here — 

"  It's  no  use — I'm  not  going  to  leave. " 
"No;  I'm  not  suggesting  such  a  thing.  I  was 
going  to  say  that — that  we're  looking  ahead. 
Let  me  see — you're  about  thirty,  perhaps.  Why, 
man,  you  haven't  begun  yet.  But  if  you  stay 
here,  and  if  Mr.  Higginson  should  die  within 
these  next  few  years  without  taking  you  into  the 
firm,  you'd  have  nothing  whatever  to  show  for 
your  work.  Now,  one  place  is  as  good  as  another 
for  such  a  man  as  you.  All  you  need  is  to  get  a 
footing — but  that  takes  capital.  My  suggestion 
would  be  that  you  stay  right  here  and  buy  into 
the  business — get  it  into  your  own  hands.  Mr. 
Higginson,  knowing  you  as  he  does,  would  be 
only  too  glad  to  have  it  go  to  you.  We  can  help 
you  with  that.  Your  credit  is  A-i  with  us. 
We're  so  sure  you're  going  to  see  some  day  the 
advantages  of  combination  and  cooperation  in 
this  business  that  we'll  write  you  a  check  any 

day  and  no  questions  asked.     It " 

"Don't  you  think,"   said  Halloran,   speaking 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD       239 

slowly,  with  an  edge  on  his  voice,  "  don't  you 
think  you've  said  about  enough?" 

Babcock  flushed.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"  I  mean,  if  your  time's  worth  anything  to  you 
you're  losing  money  here." 

"Then  you  are  not  interested " 

"Not  a  bit." 

The  junior  partner  of  Bigelow  &  Company, 
still  flushing,  rose.  "I've  made  you  a  square 
offer " 

"And  I've  refused  it." 

Babcock  stood  looking  down  at  Halloran.  His 
eyes  were  growing  smaller;  his  fingers  were  rest- 
less. For  a  moment  he  seemed  not  to  grasp  the 
fact  that  he  had  failed.  Halloran  picked  up  a 
letter,  then  lowered  it,  and  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"Now  suppose  we  leave  it  this  way  for 
the  present,  Mr.  Halloran."  He  was  rallying. 
"You'd  better  just  think  over  what  I've  said. 
The  main  thing  is  to  pave  the  way  toward  an 
agreement,  and  I  think  we've  done  that.  I'm 
glad  to  have  had  this  talk  with  you.  Don't 
hurry  about  deciding.  Weigh  it  carefully. 
Good-by — glad  to  have  seen  you." 

Halloran  gave  him  a  nod  and  he  was  gone. 

It  was  to  be  a  day  rather  more  than  usually 
eventful.  Before  he  left  the  office,  in  the  after- 
noon, Crosman  drew  him  aside. 


24o  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"  Would  you ?"  he  began. 

"Well?" 

"Will  you  be  home  to-night — about  eight?" 

"I  think  so.     Why,  anything  special?" 

«N— no.     You'll  be  there  sure?" 

"Sure." 

Promptly  at  eight  the  doorbell  rang  and 
Halloran  was  called  down  to  the  parlour.  Enter- 
ing, he  found  Crosman,  grinning  feverishly;  and 
over  in  the  corner,  with  her  back  turned,  looking 
at  a  picture,  was  Mamie.  He  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  until  Mamie  turned  around  and 
disclosed  a  very  red  face.  Still  no  one  spoke. 
The  two  now  gazed  appealingly  at  each  other, 
and  finally  it  was  Mamie  who  broke  the  silence 
with  a  preliminary  giggle. 

"  I  guess — I  guess  you  can  congratulate  us, 
Mr.  Halloran." 

Coming  so  suddenly,  even  this  bold  statement 
did  not  sink  at  once  into  Halloran' s  consciousness. 
But  at  last,  after  a  painful  pause,  he  recollected 
himself  and  shook  hands  cordially.  And  then 
the  story  had  to  be  told  in  detail.  It  was  all  a 
secret,  for  Mrs.  Higginson  had  not  yet  learned 
to  understand  Harry  as  she  would  when  she 
came  to  know  him  as  one  of  the  family.  During 
the  worst  of  her  father's  illness  Mamie  would  not 
consent,  but  now  that  the  crisis  was  turned  she 
had — "Well,  she  had  supposed  she  might  as  well. " 


JACK  HALLORAN 


MR.    BABCOCK'S    LAST    CARD      241 

"  We  wanted  you  to  know  it, "  she  said.  "  And 
it's  going  to  be  a  secret  between  just  you  and  us. 
We  thought  maybe — you — maybe  you'd  be  glad, 
too." 

But  for  some  reason  it  did  not  have  that  effect ; 
for  an  hour  later,  when  Halloran  was  striding 
up  the  beach  to  the  north,  heedless  of  the  waves 
that  ran  up  about  his  feet,  of  the  west  wind  that 
slapped  his  face  and  tugged  at  his  coat,  he  wore 
a  far  from  glad  expression.  And  not  until  he  had 
fallen  into  step  with  the  night  patrol  from  the 
life-saving  station,  and  had  swapped  yarns  of  the 
old  Inspector  and  the  Beebe-McClellan  boat  and 
the  capsize-drill  records,  and  had  learned  pre- 
cisely why  the  Wauchung  Station  was  the  most 
abused  and  discriminated  against  in  the  whole 
U.  S,  L.  S.  S,,  did  he  seem  a  little  more  composed. 


CHAPTER  IV 
TWELVE,  MIDNIGHT 

THE  deep-toned  bell  in  the  town  hall  was 
striking  twelve.  It  was  a  still,  overcast  night,  with 
a  mild  breeze  blowing  up  from  the  head  of  Lake 
Michigan.  Three  men  stood  at  the  gate  of  the 
yards  talking  in  low  tones,  somewhat  oppressed, 
perhaps,  by  the  silence.  Before  them,  a  little 
way,  was  the  white  circle  thrown  by  the  electric 
light  over  the  bridge;  behind  wrere  the  great  dim 
piles  of  lumber  with  the  narrow  alleys  between, 
now  black  as  the  sky,  and  carpeted  as  they  were 
with  chips  and  shavings,  as  silent  beneath  the 
foot  as  velvet.  The  only  noise  came,  in  the 
intervals  between  words,  from  the  two  steamers 
that  lay  breathing  softly  alongside  the  wharf. 

"  What  you  doin'  on  watch,  Du  Bois  ?  Changed 
your  job?" 

" No;  Mr.  Halloran  asked  me  to  go  on  to-night. 
He  says  it's  time  we  had  some  good  men  down 
here." 

"Aw,  go  on!" 

"Say,  Runyon,  who's  that  on  the  bridge?" 

All  three  watched  a  moment. 
242 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  243 

"  Dunno  'im.  Throw  your  lantern  on  'im  when 
he  goes  by." 

But  the  fellow  turned  in  at  the  gate. 

"Who's  this?" 

"I'm  George  Bigelow.  Mr.  Halloran  said  I 
could  go  on  watch  at  twelve. " 

"Bigelow  ain't  a  very  safe  name  around  here, 
sonny.  How  about  it,  Du  Bois?" 

"It's  all  right,  I  guess.  He's  the  new  lumber- 
checker.  "  They  all  laughed.  "You  understand, 
don't  you,  boy,  that  if  a  man's  caught  sleeping 
or  off  his  post  he  gets  shot?" 

"Why— why " 

"Don't  let  'im  scare  you,  sonny.  He's  the 
lazy  beggar  'imself.  Say,  Du  Bois,  I  thought  I 
saw  a  tramp  hanging  around  about  an  hour  ago. 
If  you  want  to  look  through  the  yards  once  more 
with  me  I'll  stay  for  it." 

"Take  the  boy.  It'll  learn  him  the  ropes. 
Run  along,  boy." 

"Good-night,   there." 

"Good-night,    Runyon.     I  won't  wait." 

They  separated,  one  man  hurrying  off  for 
home  and  a  bed,  Du  Bois  lingering  at  the  gate 
for  a  look  up  and  down  the  line  of  the  fence; 
Runyon  and  George,  their  lanterns  darkened, 
slipping  stealthily  away  into  the  shadow. 

"I  seen  somethin'  over  there  by  the  mill," 
said  Runyon,  in  a  subdued  voice,  "like  it  was  a 


244  THE   WHIP   HAND 

tramp  that  had  dumb  the  fence  by  the  bridge 
and  was  sneakin'  along  the  bank.  Here,  now, 
hold  on  a  minute," — he  caught  the  boy's  arm 
— "I  was  a-standin'  right  here.  Now  look  down 
between  them  piles — past  the  mill.  See  that 
little  strip  o'  the  river  where  the  bridge  light's 
a-shinin'  ?  It  looked  to  me  like  somethin'  black 
went  acrost  it." 

They  went  on,  giving  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
winding  througli  the  alleys,  throwing  a  light  into 
every  dark  corner.  "A  feller  can't  be  expected 
to  see  everything — not  in  yards  as  big  as  these 
here.  We  needn't  go  out  around  the  P'int.  I 
guess  there  ain't  nothin' .  Here's  Du  Bois  a-waitin' 
by  the  Number  One.  I'll  leave  you  with  him. 
You  got  a  whistle,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes;  Mr.  Halloran  gave  me  one." 

uYou  know  about  it?  If  you  blow,  it  means 
fire.  So  don't  get  gay  with  it." 

"Hallo,  there,"  said  Du  Bois,  as  they  joined 
him  on  the  wharf  in  the  little  patch  of  light  that 
fell  from  the  steamer's  engine-room.  "You're 
purty  poor.  Where's  your  tramp?" 

"He  wasn't  to  home.  We  'lowed  we'd  call 
again.  So  long." 

"So  long,  there." 

The  engine-room  was  snug  and  comfortable, 
a  capital  headquarters  for  patrol  duty.  So  the 
old  Inspector  took  immediate  precedence  of  his 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  24j 

associate.  "Now,  young  man,  we'll  have  to 
break  you  in  first  thing.  You  better  go  over  and 
patrol  the  fence  f  r'n  hour.  Then  you  come  back 
here  and  report.  Be  kind  o'  cautiouslike  about 
your  whistle." 

"I  don't  know " 

"  No,  I  guess  you  don't — not  such  a  darn  sight. 
What's  the  matter?  What  you  waitin'  fr?" 

"Why — when  we  was  going  around  the  yards, 
he  said  he  guessed  we  wouldn't  go  out  as  fur's  the 
Point — and  I  thought  mebbe  I'd  go  now,  jes  so's 
to  be  sure." 

"So  you've  took  to  thinkin',  eh?  I  s'pose  you 
was  a-thinkin'  you'd  send  me  over  to  the  fence." 

"  No,  I  didn't  mean  to  send  you,  but  I  thought 
mebbe " 

"Git  along  with  you.  You  talk  too  much. 
You  make  me  sick."  And  the  Inspector,  with  a 
chuckle,  made  slowly  toward  the  gate,  leaving 
the  boy  to  his  own  resources. 

George  walked  to  the  end  of  the  wharf  and 
stood  a  moment,  debating  whether  to  keep  on 
along  the  bank  or  to  turn  in  among  the  lumber- 
piles.  He  decided  on  the  latter  course  and 
crowded  through,  with  the  help  of  his  lantern, 
by  crawling  over  and  under  the  projecting  ends 
of  planks  between  two  huge  piles.  This  brought 
him  into  an  alley  that  led,  with  one  turn,  to  the 
narrow  space  of  open  ground  at  the  end  of  the 


*46  THE  WHIP   HAND 

peninsula.  He  closed  his  lantern  and  felt  his  way 
along.  He  had  nearly  reached  the  turn,  he 
thought,  when  it  was  suddenly  revealed  to  him 
by  a  light  flickering  on  the  lumber.  He  stopped 
short  and  held  his  breath.  The  light  was  growing 
rapidly.  He  rushed  forward  around  the  turn — 
and  again  he  stopped.  A  blaze  that  had  evidently 
started  at  the  base  of  a  pile  of  inch  stuff  was  now 
curling  upward,  was  already  half  way  up  to  the 
top;  and  it  crackled  ominously  as  it  wreathed 
around  the  thin,  resinous  boards.  Standing  a 
little  way  off  at  the  edge  of  the  bank,  looking 
stupidly  at  the  fire,  was  the  worst  specimen  from 
the  land  of  trampdom  George  had  ever  seen. 
His  clothing  hung  about  him  in  rags,  his  hair 
and  beard  were  grizzled  and  matted,  his  face 
was  red ;  and  his  whole  body  seemed  to  tremble 
as  if  from  a  nervous  affection.  He  looked  up 
frantically,  called  out  something  in  a  husky  voice 
and  held  up  a  blackened  clay  pipe,  then,  on  an 
impulse,  he  dropped  the  pipe,  turned  and  dove 
out  into  the  river.  There  was  a  splash,  the  fire- 
light glistened  for  an  instant  on  the  spray,  and 
he  had  disappeared. 

George  remembered  his  whistle  and  blew  it 
sharply  half  a  dozen  times  His  first  thought 
was  to  turn  back  to  the  steamer,  and  he  had 
taken  a  few  steps  when  a  shout  told  him  that  his 
signal  was  heard,  that  probably  the  fire  could  be 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  247 

seen  now,  for  it  was  already  licking  at  the  topmost 
boards;  and  so  he  threw  his  lantern  away  and 
took  a  running  dive  off  the  bank. 

Du  Bois,  walking  slowly,  had  nearly  reached 
the  gate  when  he  heard  George's  whistle.  "The 
boy's  crazy,"  he  muttered.  "Wonder  they 
wouldn't  give  us  un weaned  infants  f'r  patrol." 
He  looked  down  the  centre  roadway,  but  could 
see  no  light.  However,  his  duty  was  obvious, 
and  he  turned  and  ran  back  to  the  wharf,  growling 
as  he  went.  The  men  were  aroused  on  both 
steamers.  As  he  passed  the  Number  Two  he  saw 
the  hands  dragging  out  a  coil  of  hose  with  the 
nozzle  ready  attached.  On  the  upper  deck  of 
the  Number  One  Captain  Craig,  with  a  pair  of 
trousers  hastily  drawn  on  and  his  nightgown 
partly  tucked  in  at  the  waist,  was  leaning  on  the 
rail  and  peering  out  over  the  yards.  The  deck- 
house door  was  open,  throwing  the  light  on  him. 
In  the  fainter  light,  on  the  main  deck,  MacGregor 
was  hanging  out. 

"How  is  it,  Cap'n?"  he  was  calling. 

The  Captain  made  a  sign  of  impatience,  straight- 
ened up  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  one  hand  to 
shut  off  the  light  from  the  steamer;  then  gave  a 
shout,  and  pointing  toward  the  end  of  the 
peninsula,  he  plunged  into  the  wheel-house  and 
pulled  the  whistle-cord.  MacGregor  disappeared 
in  the  engine-room. 


248  THE  WHIP   HAND 

At  the  moment  Du  Bois  was  midway  between 
the  two  steamers  running  along  the  wharf.  He 
stopped  now  and  retraced  a  few  steps.  "Hi, 
there !"  he  called  to  the  men  who  were  at  work 
on  the  Number  Two,  "uncouple  that  hose  and 
bring  ?er  up  to  the  Number  One. " 

"What  for?"  asked  some  one. 

"  What  for  ?  You— you—  Hi,  Cap'n  Craig  ! 
I'm  a-bringin'  up  the  Number  Two's  line—  Will 
you  have  yours  uncoupled  for  us?  Now,  you 
louts,  gimme  a  hold  o'  the  line.  All  together, 
now !  Heave  f 'r  it !  Over  the  rail  with  'er ! 
Lay  hold  now,  lively !  Did  you  think  you  was 
a-sprinklin'  the  front  yard  an'  the  tulip-bed? 
Ryan,  if  you  fall  over  them  feet  of  yourn  again 
I'll  be  darned  if  I  don't  soak  you.  All  together, 
now ! — right  in  the  solar  plexus,  b'  th'  divvel. 
Now  heave!  HEAVE  !  What's  the  trouble,  there. 
Damn  that  Ryan !  Say,  you've  got  more  feet 
to  the  square  inch  than  any  man  a-walkin'. 
Here  she  is,  Cap'n.  Take  off  that  nozzle,  one 
o'  you,  while  I  couple  'er.  Hold  on,  Robbie, 
we'll  holler  when  we  want  water.  Jest  heave 
that  Ryan  overboard,  a  couple  o'  you.  All 
right,  Cap'n.  Will  we  take  the  nozzle?  Here 
we  go,  now !  Run  'er  out !  Quick,  there— 
You're  the  craziest  lot  o'  hare-lipped  bungholes  I 
ever  see !  " 

They  were  stretching  out  the  hose  to  its  fullest 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  249 

extent,  but  they  were  still  some  distance  from 
the  fire  that  now  was  roaring  and  crackling 
before  them.  Already  they  could  hear  the  wind, 
swelling  from  a  night  breeze;  it  was  whipping 
the  flames  into  madness. 

"Hi!  Robbie!  Let  'er  go!  Pass  the  word 
there  Let  'er  go  !" 

The  men  shouted;  MacGregor  responded;  the 
flat  line  of  hose  swelled  and  writhed  as  the  water 
was  forced  through.  "  Hold  hard,  jCap'n  !"  The 
nozzle  was  almost  wrenched  from  their  hands; 
the  stream  rushed  out  and  curved  high  over  the 
lumber. 

"Are  we  a-gettin'  at  it?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  can't  see.  Here,  work  out 
into  the  roadway." 

"  Lord,  no,  we  ain't  reachin'  'er  by  three  rods. 
An'  she's  a-burnin'  to  beat  the  yellow  devils. 
What's  the  matter  with  the  boys?  Damn  it, 
they  must  think  we're  a-doin'  it  f 'r  fun !  This 
ain't  no  Fourth  o'  July  pyrotechnics. " 

"They'll  be  here.  It's  not  much  more'n  a 
minute  since  George  signaled. " 

"There's  some  more  of  the  boys,  I  think." 

"  I  can't  see  much — this  light's  in  my  eyes. 
It's  no  use  trying  to  reach  it.  Here,  let's  wet 
down  these  here  piles.  That's  good.  Now  hold 
her  there. " 

"Gettin1  pretty  hot  here,  Cap'n." 


250  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Can't  help  that.  It'll  be  hotter  before  we 
get  through.  Have  an  eye  out  to  see  that 
we  don't  get  cut  off  behind.  Here  come  the 
buckets. " 

"Here  you  are,  boys — this  way!  How  many 
is  they  of  you?" 

"I  dunno — about  a  dozen,  I  guess.  The  boys 
is  comin'  right  in." 

"Form  a  line  here  along  the  road.  If  you 
keep  your  clothes  wet  there's  no  danger,  I  guess. 
Stir  along,  now.  Mr.  Halloran  come?" 

"Not  yet.  Mr.  Crosman's  couplin'  up  the 
yard  hose  an'  he'll  be  along  here'n  a  minute." 

The  fire  was  giving  rise  to  the  wind;  the  wind 
was  lashing  the  fire.  The  crackling  was  loud 
now;  the  roar  made  it  hard  to  talk.  As  they 
worked  and  watched  a  gust  of  wind  came  sweep- 
ing across  the  harbour,  and  catching  up  the  top 
row  of  boards  from  an  exposed  pile,  it  tossed 
them,  burning,  high  in  the  air.  The  sparks  were 
flying  high,  coursing  the  length  of  the  yards, 
some  falling  far  beyond.  Men  were  pouring  into 
the  yards.  Somewhere  across  the  river  the  town 
fire-engine  was  clanging  out  toward  the  bridge. 

A  man,  hatless,  in  a  purple  sweater,  carrying  a 
tin  pail  in  each  hand,  came  running  through  the 
gate  and  down  the  central  roadway.  Some  one 
shouted  "Here  he  comes!"  and  here  and  there 
other  men,  working  with  hose  or  bucket,  heard 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  251 

the  shout  and  caught  it  up  for  sheer  excitement, 
heedless  of  the  cause. 

"What's  that?"  said  Du  Bois.  "It's  all  clear 
behind,  ain't  it?  We  ain't  cut  off?" 

"Oh,  no;  we  aren't  cut  off." 

"Say,  Cap'n,  I  can't  stand  this;  let's  drop 
back  a  step  or  so.  Lord  knows  we  ain't  doin' 
much  good  here.  See  her  burn  !  I  guess  it's  all 
day  with  Higginson  &  Company.  Here  come 
the  fire  boys — I  see  a  helmet  back  there — 
No,  they've  quit.  They're  a-runnin'  back,  an' 
draggin'  their  hose  with  'em.  Who's  this  here 
a-comin'  f'r  us?" 

"I  don't  know;    I  can't  see." 

"  It's  himself— it's  Mr.  Halloran.  Hi !  What's 
that?" 

"Back  with  you,  quick!"  Halloran  was  shout- 
ing. "  Never  mind  the  hose.  Let  it  go.  You'll 
have  to  run  for  it.  One's  enough  here." 

"Good  Lord,  he's  goin'  to  try  the  dynamite. 
Hold  on,  there,  Mr.  Halloran !  You'll  never 
make  it;  the  fire's  too  close." 

"  Get  back  there !  What  do  you  mean  by  talking 
back  to  me?"  Halloran's  eyes  were  blazing. 
"Get  back  or  I'll  throw  you  back  Drop  that 
hose,  Cap'n.  Don't  say  a  word!" 

"All  right,  Cap'n.  I  guess  we  can  get  the 
hose  back  with  us.  Heave,  now!" 

Halloran  jerked  it  away  from  them,  took  the 


252  THE   WHIP   HAND 

Captain  by  the  shoulders  and  spun  him  around. 
"I'll  give  you  three  seconds  to  get  to  the  gate. 
Now  get !  And  none  of  your  talk  ! ' ' 

They  ran,  without  a  word. 

The  fire  had  eaten  its  way  almost  to  the  widening 
of  the  peninsula,  almost  to  the  last  point  where 
the  dynamite  could  be  expected  to  stop  it.  A 
narrow  strip  could  be  blasted  out,  but  once  the 
names  had  swept  on  into  the  main  yards  nothing 
could  check  them.  The  steamers  were  far  enough 
away,  Halloran  thought,  to  be  safe;  and  he  had 
warned  all  the  men  back.  They  stood  now  at 
the  gate,  waiting.  The  watchmen  and  deck- 
hands were  there,  and  the  twenty  or  thirty 
amateur  and  the  dozen  professional  fire-fighters. 
Crosman  came  hurrying  over  from  the  mill-plug 
and  addressed  himself  to  the  Wauchung  chief. 

"Have  your  boys  run  the  hose  right  down  the 
minute  you  hear  the  second  explosion." 

"There'll  be  only  two?" 

"Only  two.  I've  got  my  hose  ready  to  take 
down  the  other  road.  The  rest  of  you  boys  be 
ready  with  your  buckets,  and  when  the  Chief 
here  gives  the  word  you  run  for  it,  every  one  of 
you.  Understand?"  Then  he  hurried  back  to 
his  station. 

"  Here  he  comes, "  said  a  Wauchung  fireman. 

Down  the  narrow  roadway  they  could  see  a 
"black  figure  running.  Nearer  he  came,  his 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  253 

shadow  leaping  grotesquely  before.  And  just 
as  he  reached  them  and  put  out  his  hand  to  check 
his  progress,  the  whole  south  end  of  the  yards 
seemed  to  rise  high  in  the  air — once,  and  then 
again. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  called  Halloran,  turning 
before  he  had  fairly  caught  his  breath.  Cap'n, 
go  to  the  steamer  and  see  that  she's  all  right. 
This  way,  boys !"  Eager  hands  laid  hold  of  the 
hose  and  ran  forward  with  it.  Over  by  the 
mills  they  could  hear  Crosman  urging  his  men 
on.  And  ahead  of  all  was  the  bucket  brigade. 

The  explosion  had  cleared  a  path  from  bank 
to  bank.  Many  of  the  blazing  timbers  had 
fallen  into  the  yards,  but  the  buckets  and 
Crosman's  hose  were  turned  on  these,  while  the 
firemen  gave  their  attention  to  the  wide  heap  of 
debris  that  seemed  on  the  point  of  blazing  up 
again.  A  third  line  of  hose  was  soon  brought  up, 
and  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  Chief  had  the 
satisfaction  of  saying  to  Halloran,  "  We've  got 
her  in  hand  now."  An  hour  more  and  the 
fire  was  over,  excepting  the  smouldering  piles, 
on  which  streams  of  water  would  be  kept  for  the 
rest  of  the  night.  Halloran  assigned  a  few  men 
to  stay  on  watch  with  the  firemen  and,  leaving 
the  responsibility  in  the  hands  of  the  Chief,  he 
went  over  to  the  Number  One.  Craig  was  on  the 
wharf. 


254  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Any  harm  done,  Cap'n?" 

"No — not  to  speak  of.  About  all  the  glass  is 
broken,  and  some  sparks  came  aboard,  but  we 
put  them  out  easy  enough. " 

"Say,  Cap'n,  I  don't  know  just  what  I  said 
to  you  to-night — 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Halloran— don't  you 
speak  of  it.  You  were  tending  to  your  business, 
that  was  all.  You  haven't  seen  anything  of 
George,  have  you?" 

"George?     No.       Isn't  he  here?" 

"No,  he  ain't.  He  was  out  at  the  Point.  He 
gave  us  the  signal,  but  he  didn't  come  back. " 

"Well,  here,  we'll  look  into  this.  Du  Bois, 
there,  did  you  see  George  after  he  gave  the 
alarm?" 

"No,  I  ain't  seen  'im  since  he  went  out  to  the 
P'int.  What's  the  matter,  ain't  he  around?" 

"No,  he  hasn't  been  seen.  Look  him  up,  will 
you  ?  Ask  the  boys,  and  look  around  the  yards  a 
bit." 

"Here  he  is  now." 

Craig  and  the  Manager  turned  and  saw,  sure 
enough,  George,  leading,  with  the  assistance  of 
a  local  policeman,  a  villainous-looking  tramp. 
George  himself  looked  almost  as  disreputable  as 
the  tramp,  and  the  policeman  had  evidently  not 
been  treading  paths  of  ease. 

"Here's  the  man  that  done  it,  Mr.  Halloran," 


TWELVE,   MIDNIGHT  255 

said  George  excitedly.  "The  copper  said  he 
didn't  mind  bringing  him  here  so's  you  could  see 
him  before  he  gets  run  in.  He  won't  say  nothing, 
though." 

Halloran  soon  drew  out  George's  story,  but  the 
tramp  was  silent,  beyond  claiming  stoutly  that 
he  had  been  smoking  and  had  fallen  asleep,  only 
to  awake  and  find  the  flames  starting  up.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn  him  over  to  the 
law  for  the  present.  And  at  last,  as  the  hour 
crept  on  toward  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Halloran  and  Crosman,  after  sending  a  reassur- 
ing message  to  the  Higginsons,  left  the  yards 
together  for  home  and  bed. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE     MEETING 

ONE  afternoon  young  Corrigan  appeared  at  the 
office.  "I  wish,  you  would  repeat,"  he  said, 
when  the  civilities  had  been  exchanged,  "what 
you  said  to  me  a  little  while  back." 

"About  Mr.  Bigelow?" 

"Yes.  Please  tell  me  just  what  you  think, 
and  why  you  think  so.  You  understand  that  I 
couldn't  go  on  with  this  without  pretty  good 
authority  behind  me." 

"I  have  no  documentary  proof,  if  that's  what 
you  mean.  But  to  my  notion,  that  isn't  neces- 
sary." And  Halloran  simply  repeated  his  former 
statements. 

"Tell  me  again  about  this  Le  Due — what  is  his 
relationship  to  Mr.  Bigelow?" 

"I  may  as  well  give  you  the  whole  story,  Mr. 
Corrigan.  The  daughter  of  our  Captain  Craig 
went  to  Chicago  some  twenty  years  ago  as 
Bigelow' s  private  secretary.  They  were  married 
and  had  two  children,  and  then  they  were  divorced. 
The  courts  allowed  Mrs.  Bigelow  a  decent  income 
by  way  of  alimony,  most  of  which  was  never 

256 


THE   MEETING  257 

paid,  and  in  some  letters  Bigelow  admitted  that 
it  was  unpaid.  A  little  while  ago,  Le  Due,  a 
fellow  I  had  known  in  college,  who  had  drifted 
on  the  stage  and  was  rather  up  against  it,  married 
the  daughter,  Elizabeth  Bigelow.  They  were 
all  poor — Mrs.  Bigelow  (or  Mrs.  Craig,  as  she 
is  now  known)  was  really  in  want — and  finally 
Le  Due  got  the  letters  from  her  and  went  out 
one  evening  to  Evanston  to  demand  money  from 
Bigelow.  Instead  of  giving  it  to  him,  Bigelow 
bought  him  off  by  offering  him  a  position  as  the 
nominal  head  of  the  corner  he  was  contemplating 
on  the  Board.  Le  Due  accepted,  kept  the  letters, 
and  cast  off  Mrs.  Craig,  who  is  now  living  here  in 
Wauchung  with  her  father.  Just  before  I  saw 
you  he  told  me  himself  that  Bigelow  was  the 
man  behind  him  in  his  operations.  That's  the 
story." 

"Well — well,"  observed  Corrigan,  with  a  dis- 
tressed expression. 

"And  in  telling  it  to  you,  I'm  assuming  that 
you  don't  want  a  Board  of  Trade  plunger  at  the 
head  of  your  combination." 

"No,  no,  of  course  we  don't.  Now,  Mr.  Halloran, 
what  is  it  exactly  that  you  have  to  suggest  ?" 

"Say  to  Mr.  Bigelow  at  your  meeting  that  you 
have  been  told  that  he  is  behind  the  corner  and 
request  an  explanation," 

"Yes?" 


258  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"If  he  can  explain,  well  and  good.  You  can 
refer  the  whole  matter  to  me.  But  if  he  can't — 
there  you  are." 

Corrigan  pondered.  "That  seems  fair.  I'll 
talk  it  over  with  my  father.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you,  anyhow." 

"Not  at  all." 

A  reaction  had  followed  the  fire  and  the  long 
strain  leading  up'to  it.  They  all  felt  it.  Crosman, 
wearied  by  the  comparative  idleness  that  was 
forced  upon  him,  was  irritable  and  inclined  to 
chafe  against  the  steady  disapproval  of  Mrs. 
Higginson.  Halloran  was  plunged  in  gloom 
most  of  the  time.  And  to  add  to  the  depression 
Captain  Craig  decided  to  give  up  his  post. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Halloran,"  he  said,  in  speaking 
of  it,  "you  maybe  wouldn't  think  to  look  at  me 
that  I'm  a  great-grandfather,  but  I've  known  it 
by  my  feelings  since  the  fire.  I  didn't  stand  it 
very  well — the  running  and  the  wet  and  all ;  and 
my  eyes  have  been  bothering  me,  too.  Jennie 
and  me,  we've  been  talking  it  over,  and  she  thinks 
I  ought  to  just  quit  now,  and  look  after  the  garden, 
and  take  it  kind  of  easy.  There's  no  room  for  us 
old  fellows  now,  anyhow.  A  man  had  better 
make  up  his  mind  to  it  before  he  gets  crowded 
out.  I've  saved  a  little  something — enough  to 
live  on,  and  I've  got  my  place,  and  I  guess  that's 
enough  for  anybody." 


THE  MEETING  259 

"You're  mistaken,  Captain.  There's  not  a 
better  man  on  the  Lakes,  and  I'm  glad  to  tell  you 
so.  The  Number  One  is  yours  as  long  as  you'll 
keep  her." 

There  were  tears  in  the  Captain's  eyes.  "That's 
all  right — I'm  obliged  to  you.  But  I  guess  it's 
time  to  quit  now  while  we're  shut  down  and  you 
have  a  good  chance  to  look  around  for  some- 
body else.  There's  only  one  thing  that's  been 
bothering  me.  Do  you  think  you're  going  to 
have  a  place  for  George?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  He's  going  to  make  a  good 
man  before  he  gets  through  with  it." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so.  I  must  tell  Jennie — 
it'll  please  her.  And  say— here's  a  little  some- 
thing— George  says  he's  owed  you  three-fifty  for 
a  long  while.  He's  managed  to  save  it  up  now, 
and  he  wanted  me  to  hand  it  to  you. " 

Halloran  had  to  think.  "Oh,  that— that's 
nothing — I  couldn't  take  it." 

"  If  you  don't  mind — I  think  you'd  better. 
And  I — I  want  to  say,  Mr.  Halloran,  before  I 
quit  you,  that  it's  been  a  great  thing  for  Mr. 
Higginson  to  have  you  here.  I  guess  there  ain't 
no  doubt  you've  saved  his  business  for  him." 

This  brought  the  gloom  back  to  the  Manager's 
face.  He  shook  his  head. 

"That's  all  right  now — I've  watched  the  busi- 
ness some.  It's  your  nerve  and  grit — — " 


260  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Captain,"  Halloran  broke  in  bitterly,  "I " 

"I  guess  I  know  what  you  mean.  You've  been 
carrying  a  load  that  would  have  broke  most  men, 
and  now  you're  sort  of  unstrung.'* 

Halloran  shook  his  head  again.  "Damn  the 
load."  He  looked  around  the  office.  Crosman 
was  out;  the  door  was  shut.  "Captain,  I've  lost 
the  girl  I  want  to  marry,  for  want  of  nerve." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

He  nodded. 

"Is  she  married  already?" 

"Oh,  no ;  she's  gone  away." 

"Where?" 

"Down  East.     She  didn't  leave  word." 

"And  she  ain't  married  anybody  else?  Then 
she  ain't  lost.  Why  don't  you  go  after  her  ?" 

"I  know.     I've  thought  of  that." 

"Thinking  '11  never  do  it.     You  better  go." 

Halloran  looked  up  and  caught  the  Captain's 
eye.  It  was  beaming  with  good-will,  and  it  opened 
to  him  a  glimpse  of  a  new  world.  "I  believe 
I  will,"  he  said,  holding  his  breath. 

"You  can  get  the  eleven  o'clock  on  the  Pere 
Marquette  and  connect  with  the  Central  Limited 
to-night  at  Detroit.  I'll  take  care  of  the  fire 
department  while  you're  gone." 

"Will  you  ?"     He  caught  at  the  Captain's  hand. 

"Sure.     You'd   better   move    right    along — 
Lord,  yes,  there's  only  twenty-five  minutes,  and 


THE  MEETING  261 

it'll  take  you  most  of  that  to  get  home  and  pack. 
I'll  call  up  the  livery  and  have  a  carriage  go  right 
up  after  you.*' 

"Good.     Tell  Crosman  I've  been  called  East." 

"I'll  see  to  everything.  Good-by.  And  say, 
don't  hurry  back.  Wire  your  address,  and  if  we 
need  you  we'll  let  you  know.  Good-by.  Good 
luck." 

"Thanks.  Good-by."  He  was  gone  with  a 
rush,  leaving  his  desk  open  behind  him. 

It  so  chanced  that  on  this  morning  when 
Halloran  went  plunging  off  to  seek  his  fortune, 
Mr.  G.  Hyde  Bigelow,  in  an  equally  uncertain 
frame  of  mind,  was  fronting  his.  Matters  were 
going  awry  down  in  Chicago.  The  Board  of 
Trade  deal,  thanks  to  the  elation  and  conse- 
quent intermeddling  of  the  paid  figurehead,  was 
wobbling  dangerously.  And  at  ten  o'clock,  while 
Le  Due  was  hearing  sharp,  straight-out  words  in 
the  mahogany  office,  the  heads  of  nearly  a  score 
of  Michigan  lumber  firms  were  gathering  in  the 
city  office  of  the  Corrigans,  not  far  away.  Hard- 
headed  old  fellows  they  were,  most  of  them — men 
with  slouch  hats  and  unkempt  beards,  men  who 
wore  high  boots  beneath  their  bagging  trousers, 
and  swore  as  they  talked  and  breathed.  And 
there  they  waited  for  Bigelow,  to  ask  him  where 
their  money  had  gone  and  how  he  proposed  to  get 
it  back.  At  length  he  came. 


262  THE  WHIP   HAND 

"Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  he  observed,  as  he 
laid  aside  his  coat  and  stick  and  his  silk  hat. 

"Good-morning,"  came  from  Corrigan,  and 
"How  are  you?"  from  one  or  two  others.  One 
graybeard  murmured  to  a  neighbour  that  he 
wished  he'd  a  known  in  the  first  place  that 
Bigelow  wore  a  silk  hat.  "You  can't  trust  a 
dude,"  he  muttered. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  the  managing  director 
began,  drawing  his  report  from  his  pocket,  "I  sup- 
pose a  statement  of  what  we  have  accomplished 
will " 

But  young  Corrigan  couldn't  wait.  "Excuse 
me,  Mr.  Bigelow — and  gentlemen.  I  think  we 
all  know  just  about  where  we  stand  in  this  busi- 
ness. And " 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Corrigan.     It  is  usual 

"What  I  have  to  say  is  not  usual,  Mr.  -Bigelow. 
It's  so  important  that  it  takes  precedence,  to 
my  notion.  It  concerns  our  existence  as  a  work- 
ing body  and  our  relations  with  you,  sir.  And 
this  meeting  can't  go  forward  until  it  has  been 
laid  before  you,  and  you've  had  the  chance  to 
convince  us  that  what  has  been  reported  to  me  is 
untrue — that  it  is,  as  we  should  hope,  a  malicious 
lie.  Before  we  think  of  the  question  of  going 
forward  or  backward  as  a  combination  we  must 
settle  the  question  of  our  mutual  confidence  as 
individuals.  A  shadow  has  been  cast  upon  this 


THE   MEETING  263 

confidence;  and  you  know,  every  man  of  you — " 
the  graybeards,  some  startled,  others  condescend- 
ing, looked  at  him ;  Bigelow  looked  at  him,  too — 
"You  know  that  our  whole  structure  must  rest  on 
complete  confidence  in  the  men  we  choose  to 
direct  our  affairs.  If  this  is  removed,  we  can't 
do  business  a  day." 

"I  should  suggest,  Mr.  Corrigan,  that  what  you 
have  to  say  had  better  come  in  the  discussion  that 
will  follow  the  reading  of  the  report.  It  is  the 
object  of  this  report  to  answer  in  advance  all 
inquiries,  to  tell  every  fact  about  our  work." 

"You'd  better  wait,  Harry,"  observed  a  man 
in  boots.  "Let  him  read  it." 

"If  this  were  a  fact  of  our  work  it  could  wait, 
sir;  but  it  ain't."  Corrigan  was  warming  up. 
"It  concerns  you,  personally,  Mr.  Bigelow.  We 
have  accepted  your  guidance  so  far  because  we 
believed  you  to  be  a  certain  kind  of  a  man,  and 
to  stand  for  certain  principles  in  business.  We 
want  to  go  on  believing  this,  and  we  don't  want 
to  wait  a  minute,  now  that  we're  all  together 
here.  I've  been  told  that  you're  the  real 
operator  of  the  big  corner  on  the  Board, 
that  your  money  is  in  it,  and  that  the  man 
named  Le  Due  has  been  put  up  so  that  your 
name  wouldn't  be  known.  Is  that  so?" 

Every  face  in  the  room  changed  expression. 
The  blood  rushed  into  Bigelow' s. 


264  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"If  you've  been  taking  our  time  to  make  wild 
charges  against  my  character— 

"You  aren't  answering,"  shouted  Corrigan. 
"Tell  me  that.  That's  what  I  ask." 

"You'd  better  cool  down  a  bit,  Harry." 

"No,  Mr.  Anderson,  I  won't  cool  down." 

"See  here,"  said  Bigelow,  his  voice  rising  with 
the  others.  "This  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  this  meeting." 

Corrigan  leaned  over  the  table  and  looked  him 
keenly  in  the  eyes.  "If  you  mean  to  withdraw 
here  and  now,  Mr.  Bigelow,  to  dissolve  this 
agreement,  then  I'm  with  you;  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  But  if  you  mean  to  go  on  as  our 
managing  director,  then  you've  got  to  answer 
that  question." 

The  other  men  looked  at  one  another.  "I  guess 
that's  fair,  Mr.  Bigelow,"  observed  the  man  in 
boots.  "So  long  as  Harry's  sprung  this  on  us 
we  wouldn't  any  of  us  feel  quite  easy  about  it." 

"Well,  sir,  is  it  true?"  asked  Corrigan. 

"I  claim  that  this  is  impertinent." 

"Is  it  true?" 

"I  decline  to  answer.  My  private  investments 
are  simply  none  of  your  business." 

Corrigan  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  drew  a 
long  breath.  "There,"  he  said,  "that's  all  I 
wanted  to  know.  I  think  you'll  agree  with  me, 
gentlemen,  that  we  can't  keep  up  these  rela- 


THE   MEETING  265 

tions  any  longer.     Suppose  we  hear  the  report 
now." 

It  was  half -past  two  when  the  door  was  opened 
and  a  score  of  heated,  hungry  men  came  out  for 
lunch.  Bigelow  had  recovered  and  made  a 
strong  fight,  but  the  sentiment  was  overwhelm- 
ingly against  him.  The  managership  had  been 
offered  to  Corrigan;  he  had  declined  and  stood 
out  for  dissolution  on  the  ground  that  during  the 
dozen  or  fifteen  years  that  remained  before  the 
timber  should  be  all  cut  out  there  was  room  for 
them  all  without  any  damaging  competition. 
And  so  before  they  broke  up  the  lumber  agree- 
ment was  abrogated.  And  in  a  few  days,  as  soon 
as  matters  could  be  settled,  the  lumber  world 
would  know  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 
WEST   AND   EAST 

EASTWARD  sped  Halloran,  on  to  the  Hudson,  on 
up  the  crooked  mountain  railroad  to  the  junction 
village,  on  up  the  wagon  road  behind  a  team 
of  crawling  white  horses;  reaching  at  last  the 
house  perched  on  the  mountainside,  lost  in  billows 
of  autumn  flame.  Yes,  Miss  Davies  was  still 
there.  The  wife  of  the  proprietor  had  seen  her 
shortly  before,  walking  up  the  trail  behind  the 
house. 

He  found  her  standing  in  a  tangle  of  late  black- 
berries, hatless,  her  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow, 
reaching  up  to  break  off  a  crimson  maple  branch. 
She  heard  him  crashing  through  brake  and 
bramble,  and  turned.  He  did  not  see  that  she 
changed  colour,  she  was  so  browned  by  the 
mountain  sun — but  she  was  startled.  She  did 
not  move,  but  stood,  holding  the  branch  and 
looking  at  him  without  a  word. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said,  shaking  hands. 
"Hardly  expected  to  see  me,  did  you  ?" 

"No.  This  is  a  surprise.  When  did  you  get 
here?'1 

266 


WEST  AND   EAST  267 

"Just  now." 

"Well,  you're  just  in  time  to  walk  back  with 


me." 


He  was  disappointed.  "Don't  go  right  down. 
I  came  because  they  told  me  you  were  here,  and 
now  it  would  be  too  bad  not  to  see  you." 

"I'm  going  to  play  tennis,  and  there's  only  an 
hour  before  dark.  Here,  you  may  carry  these 
branches.  Aren't  they  beautiful?  You  walk 
ahead  so  I  can  look  at  them." 

There  was  no  other  way ;  the  trail  was  narrow, 
and  with  the  great  bundle  of  branches  in  his  arms 
he  had  all  he  could  do  to  pick  his  way  down  the 
rocky  path.  Near  the  house  they  were  met  by 
a  big  young  man  in  flannels,  carrying  tennis 
rackets.  He  looked  curiously  at  Halloran,  and 
passing  him,  walked  with  Miss  Davies. 

"Mr.  Halloran,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Green." 

Mr.  Green  bowed  and  said,  "How  are  you?" 
with  an  eastern  drawl.  And  that  was  the  last 
Halloran  saw  of  her  until  supper  time.  He  might 
have  sat  on  the  veranda  and  watched  the  game, 
but  he  did  not ;  instead,  he  walked  down  to  the 
road,  and  in  the  same  plunging  mood  that  had 
brought  him  East  he  went  swinging  up  the  valley. 
The  bold  splashes  of  crimson  and  yellow  and 
golden  brown  on  the  long  slopes,  brought  sharply 
out  by  the  somber  pines;  the  fringe  of  Queen 
Anne's  lace  along  the  road,  and  the  masses  of 


268  THE   WHIP   HAND 

goldenrod  and  mint ;  the  hum  of  millions  of  bees ; 
the  tumbling  brook  a  rod  away,  with  its  pebbly 
ripples  and  dark  pools;  these  he  hardly  saw. 
Even  the  Wittenberg,  standing  rugged  against 
the  sky,  its  crown  of  balsams  now  a  trembling, 
luminous  purple  under  the  shafts  of  the  setting 
sun,  could  not  move  him. 

After  supper,  by  some  managing,  he  caught 
her  alone  in  the  hall.  ''Come,"  he  said,  "let's  go 
outside." 

She  hesitated,  but  yielded.  "I  can't  stay  out 
but  a  minute .  1 1 '  s  t oo  cold . ' ' 

"Get  a  wrap  or  something.  If  you  bundle  up 
we  could  sit  awhile.  It's  stuffy  in  there." 

"Oh,  no,  I  can't.  We're  going  to  play  euchre 
to-night." 

"We " 

"Oh,  everybody.  That  means  you,  too,  of  course. 
Come  in  and  let  me  introduce  you.  The  people 
are  jolly,  most  of  them.  There  are  always  some 
queer  ones,  you  know,  at  a  place  like  this." 

"But,  Margaret,  I  didn't  come  to  play  euchre. 
I  don't  want  to  know  these  people.  Can't  you  see  ? 
I  came  on  purpose  to  see  you,  and  to  talk  to  you. 
Get  your  things  and  take  a  walk  with  me.  Never 
mind  the  euchre." 

"Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  do  that.  The  people — it 
wouldn't  look  right." 

"What  do  we  care  for  them?" 


WEST  AND   EAST  269 

"No,  I  mustn't.  We  had  really  better  go  in." 
And  in  she  went,  with  Halloran,  crestfallen, 
following. 

After  an  insufferable  evening  he  tried  again  to 
see  her,  and  again  it  was  accomplished  only  by 
maneuvering. 

" Margaret,"  he  said,  when  he  had  drawn  her 
into  the  corner  of  the  emptying  room,  "tell  me 
what  it  means.  What's  the  matter?" 

She  looked  at  him  and  slowly  shook  her  head. 
"Nothing,"  she  replied;  "nothing  at  all." 

"Did  you  get  my  letters?" 

She  nodded. 

"I  didn't  know — you  didn't  answer.  Why 
didn't  you  write,  Margaret?" 

No  answer. 

"Won't  you  tell  me?  I've  come  a  long  way 
to  ask  you." 

"I— why,  I  just  couldn't." 

"  Didn't  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  did." 

"And  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  now?" 

A  long,  long  silence.  Then  this  from  Miss 
Davies : 

"Oh,  please  don't  now.  It's  very  late — and 
I'm  tired." 

"But  when  am  I  to  see  you?"  he  broke  out 
impatiently. 

"Or!,  there  will  be  plenty  of  time.     But  not 


270  THE  WHIP  HAND 

to-night — please.  You  aren't  going  away  before 
morning. " 

"I  am  here  only  for  a  day  or  so.  I — I  am 
down  East  on — on  business."  He  had  quailed 
again.  "  I  just  stopped  off  here. " 

"Oh,  you  just  happened  to  come?" 

"No,  I  meant  to  come — I  had  to,  I  couldn't 
stay  away.  It's  a  long  time  since  I've  seen  you, 
Margaret. 

"  I  know.  You  called  in  Evanston,  didn't  you  ? 
Mrs.  Bigelow  wrote  me  that  you  had  taken 
George.  How  is  he  doing?" 

"Well.  But  when  can  I  talk  with  you — alone 
somewhere?  I  can't  say  anything  when  you 
seem  so  hurried." 

'  *  Why — to-morrow,   perhaps . ' ' 

' '  To-morrow   morning  ? ' ' 

"No,  not  the  morning.  I'm  going  to  climb 
the  Terrace." 

"Why  not  drop  that  and  come  with  me?" 

"I  can't.  I  promised  Mr.  Green.  He's  get- 
ting up  a  party.  You — you  might  come  along." 

He  shook  his  head.  There  was  another  pause. 
"Margaret,"  he  said  then,  " who  is  Mr.  Green ?" 

"He's  a  Boston  man." 

"Is  he— is  he ?" 

Some  one  was  looking  for  Miss  Davies.  "  She's 
in  the  card-room,  I  think, "  said  a  voice. 

"Here  I  am.     I'll  be  there  directly." 


WEST  AND   EAST  271 

"Wait,  Margaret.  Do  you  plan  to  get  back 
for  lunch?" 

"Yes — I  don't  think  we're  going  to  take  any 
with  us." 

"Then  I'll  order  a  carriage  for  two  o'clock, 
and  we'll  drive." 

"Well " 

"Of  course" — and  every  word  he  uttered 
sounded  like  "Mr.  Green  — Mr.  Green"  — "of 
course,  if  you'd  rather  not — 

"Oh,  no — thank  you  very  much.  I'd  enjoy 
going.  At  two,  did  you  say  ? " 

She  was  gone;  and  Halloran  went  outside 
and  paced  the  veranda,  alone  with  a  cigar.  His 
regular  footfall  sounded  for  a  long  time — during 
two  cigars,  in  fact ;  and  the  thoughts  he  finally 
carried  to  bed  with  him  were  not  the  sort  to  put 
him  into  a  condition  for  the  diplomacy  the 
morrow  was  to  demand.  In  the  morning,  long 
before  daylight  he  was  up  and  dressed.  He 
breakfasted  late  to  avoid  the  climbing  party, 
and  from  his  window  he  watched  them  start  up 
the  road.  He  saw  Green  take  Margaret's  jacket 
and  tie  the  sleeves  through  his  belt.  An  annoying 
fellow  he  was  with  his  easy  manners,  his  faultless 
clothes,  his  calm  reserve.  He  grated  on  Halloran ; 
he  reminded  him  of  his  own  blunt  western  way ; 
he  forced  him  to  recall  again  those  rough  ante- 
cedents of  his.  And  that  Halloran  was  keen 


272  THE  WHIP  HAND 

enough  to  recognize  the  difference,  indefinable 
as  it  seemed,  aggravated  matters.  For  an  hour 
or  so  he  sat  in  the  library  and  tried  to  read,  but 
failed.  He  thought  a  little  fresh  air  might  fix 
him  up,  and  he  went  out  for  a  six-mile  tramp 
up  the  Panther  Kill,  through  the  ravine  where 
the  rock  walls  shine  with  moisture,  and  the  trout 
lie  deep  in  the  pools  below  the  falls,  and  the 
trees  mat  closely  to  shut  out  the  day;  but  this 
was  worse  than  the  book.  He  came  back  over  a 
spur  of  the  Panther  Mountain  and  here  he  had  his 
first  occupation  of  the  day,  scrambling  up  the 
ledges,  fighting  through  the  brambles,  placing  his 
feet  carefully  on  the  treacherous  moss-covered 
rocks;  here  drawing  himself  by  a  finger  grip  up 
a  sheer  precipice,  there  elbowing  up  a  chimney. 

He  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  and  plunged 
down  through  the  forest.  He  saw  a  clearing 
ahead,  and,  pushing  on,  found  the  whole  valley 
spread  out  below,  the  stream  splashing  and 
glittering  in  the  sun,  the  white  road  winding  out 
here  and  there  from  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  and 
all  the  tumbling  mountain  land  blazing  with 
colour.  To  the  south  towered  the  Wittenberg, 
to  the  north  lay  the  peaceful  slopes  of  North 
Dome  and  Mount  Sheridan.  He  was  knee-deep 
in  fragrant  mint,  and  surrounded  by  droning  bees. 
A  look,  and  he  was.  crashing  on,  covered  with 
thistledown  from  the  tangle  of  brush.  It  was  a 


WEST  AND  EAST  273 

pleasure  to  jump  the  great  hemlock  logs  that  the 
tanners  had  left  to  rot  thirty  years  before.  Once 
a  birch  of  six  inches  diameter  snapped  off  short 
under  his  hand  and  gave  him  a  tumble  and  a  roll 
down  the  slope.  He  got  up,  shook  out  his  joints 
and  went  on  with  a  laugh,  chasing  a  porcupine 
that  lumbered  off  and  tried  to  hide  its  head  under 
a  stone.  And  when  at  last  he  ran  out  into  the 
upper  meadows  behind  the  house  he  was  no  longer 
thinking  of  Green. 

But  at  noon  the  climbing  party  did  not  appear 
in  the  dining-room.  At  two  o'clock,  when  the 
carriage  appeared,  there  was  no  sign  of  them.  At 
three  the  horse  was  still  waiting  and  Halloran 
had  gone  back  to  his  cigars.  At  half -past  three 
he  called  the  boy  and  ordered  him  shortly  to  take 
the  horse  back  to  the  barn.  At  four  the  party, 
disheveled,  flushed  with  exercise,  laughing  merrily 
together  over  the  little  jokes  and  incidents  of 
the  climb,  came  wearily  up  the  walk.  Halloran 
stood  on  the  veranda  and  watched  them  as  they 
climbed  the  steps.  Margaret  met  him  half- 
defiantly,  half -apologetically. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  murmured,  as  she  passed 
him,  the  last  of  the  party;  "Mr.  Green  did  take 
some  sandwiches  in  his  pockets.  We — we  went 
on  about  half  way  up  the  Wittenberg.  I  must 
change  my  things  now;  but  if  you  still  want 
to  go  I  can  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 


274  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"No — I've  sent  the  horse  back.  You  couldn't 
go  now — you  need  a  rest." 

"Well"— with  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  "that's 
just  as  you  like.  We  can  go  to-morrow, 
perhaps." 

"I  think  I  shall  have  to  go  away  this  afternoon." 

Here  he  was,  forcing  her  to  speak  out  and 
urge  him;  and  she  had  no  notion  of  being  forced 
to  speak. 

"Oh,  must  you  go  so  soon  ?" 

"I  think  so." 

"That's  too  bad.  You've  not  much  more  than 
got  here.  You  really  should  have  gone  with  us; 
we  had  a  glorious  climb.  I'm  all  torn  to  pieces." 
She  put  out  a  shoe  that  was  cut  and  torn  in 
two  or  three  places.  "I  never  worked  so  in  my 
life  before." 

Halloran  was  thawing  rapidly;  he  could  not 
stand  there  looking  at  her  and  still  keep  all  his 
resentment.  And  when  she  said,  with  an  embar- 
rassed little  laugh,  "Well,  I  simply  must  go  in," 
he  delayed  her : 

"Margaret,  wait  just  a  minute.  Haven't  you 
anything  to  say  to  me.  It  all  rests  with  you. 
If  you  would  tell  me — to  stay — 

He  could  not  get  further.  She  looked  at  him, 
then  away.  "Why — why — if  you—  Of  course 
you  know  best  how  much  time  you  have." 

He  turned  away  impatiently,  and  she  hurried 


MARTIN  L.  HIGGINSON,   BIGELOW'S  RIVAL 


WEST  AND  EAST  275 

into  the  house,  pausing  only  to  add,  "I  shall  be 
down  in  a  few  minutes." 

But  when  the  few  minutes,  lengthened  to  half 
an  hour,  had  passed,  and  she  had  come  down  and 
looked  with  a  curious  expression  into  the  parlours 
and  out  about  the  veranda,  Halloran  was  half 
a  mile  away,  driving  rapidly  toward  the  railway 
station  in  the  junction  village.  And  not  until  the 
evening  did  she  know  certainly  that  he  had  gone. 

One  Pere  Marquette  train  reached  Wauchung 
early  in  the  morning,  to  connect  with  the  car- 
ferry  across  the  lake;  and  this  was  the  train 
that  brought  Halloran  back  home.  Walking 
up  the  street,  bag  in  hand,  he  met  the  Captain, 
who  was  getting  home  from  the  yards  for  break- 
fast. Craig  stopped  when  he  saw  him,  and 
waited.  They  shook  hands  with  only  a  greeting, 
but  the  Captain's  shrewd  old  eyes  were  searching 
Halloran' s  face. 

"Well,  Mr.  Halloran,  we  weren't  looking  for 
you  quite  so  soon." 

"I've  taken  the  best  part  out  of  a  week.  I 
couldn't  stay  longer  than  that.  I'll  see  you 
after  breakfast  and  go  over  things.  No  news  ?" 

"No;  everything's  lovely.  But  say,  Mr.  Hal- 
loran, how  about  it?" 

Halloran  shook  his  head  and  would  have 
hurried  on. 

" Pshaw,  now;  it  wasn't  no,  was  it?" 


276  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Not  exactly." 

"Well,  say— then  maybe  it's  all  right." 

"It's  nothing,  Captain — worse  than  nothing." 

"You  don't  mean — you  ain't  telling  me  you've 
come  back  without  either  no  or  yes  ?" 

Halloran  made  no  answer.  He  simply  wanted 
to  get  away. 

"Mr.  Halloran,  I  didn't  think  it  of  you;  honest, 
I  didn't.  Say,  now,"  he  reached  down  and 
caught  hold  of  the  bag,  not  heeding  Halloran' s 
protest,  "let's  step  back  this  way.  There  hasn't 
a  soul  seen  you — not  a  soul."  His  eyes  swept 
the  street.  "Just  step  along  a  little  quicker. 
The  early  train'll  be  pulling  out  before  long,  and 
you  can  pick  up  some  breakfast  at  Reed  City.  I'd 
take  you  home  with  me — Jennie 'd  never  peep — 
but  I'm  afraid  some  of  the  boys  might  be  around 
when  you  come  out,  and  anyhow  you'd  have  to 
wait  till  the  later  train,  and  when  you  come  to 
things  like  this  time's  worth  saving.  I  guess 
prob'ly  there's  some  other  fellow  hanging  around 
down  there  these  days  and  you've  gone  and  given 
him  a  cool  two  days'  start  of  you — you've  just 
handed  it  to  him.  Now  you  get  right  back  by  the 
fastest  train  you  can  make.  There's  a  good  many 
things  you  know  a  heap  more  about  than  I  do,  but 
I  guess  maybe  women  ain't  one  of  'em." 

They  reaehed  the  station,  Halloran  walking 
moodily  without  a  word.  At  the  edge  of  the 


WEST  AND   EAST  277 

platform  he  turned.  "Captain,  do  you  really 
think  I  ought  to  do  it?" 

"My  boy,  you've  got  to  do  it.  You  ain't  going 
to  lie  down  here,  are  you?  And  that's  what  it 
means  if  you  don't.  There's  your  train  waiting 
there.  You  get  right  aboard  before  anybody 
shows  up  to  ask  questions.  Good-by;  good 
luck  to  you." 

Halloran  got  aboard,  moody  still;  pulled  up 
his  collar,  pulled  down  his  hat,  slid  down  low  in 
the  seat,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  worn  spot  in  the 
back  of  the  seat  ahead.  And  when  the  train 
pulled  into  Reed  City  he  was  still  gazing  at  the 
worn  spot. 

The  invigorating  autumn  air  still  held  in 
Woodland  Valley.  Halloran,  finding  that  the 
sleepy  white  horses  and  their  driver  were  likely  to 
be  delayed  in  the  village,  threw  his  bag  under  a 
seat  and  set  out  on  foot,  following  the  road  up 
through  the  notch  by  the  bronze  patches  of  corn- 
stalks. He  caught  up  a  handful  of  young  winter- 
green  and  munched  it  as  he  tramped.  There  was 
a  lift  in  the  air,  and  he  threw  open  his  coat  and 
walked  with  a  swing. 

At  the  house  he  asked  for  Miss  Davies  and  was 
told  that  she  was  in  her  room,  so  he  wrote  a  line 
in  the  library  and  gave  it  to  a  maid  to  take 
to  her. 

She  came  in  a  moment. 


278  THE  WHIP  HAND 

"Get  your  things,  Margaret,"  he  said;  "let's  go 
outside." 

"  But — when  did  you  come?" 

"Just  now.  I  walked  up.  I've  been  out  to 
Wauchung  since  I  saw  you  the  other  day,  but 
there  was  no  use  trying  to  stay  there.  You  see— 
what  I  said  about  being  down  here  on  business 
was  all  a  fib — I  was  afraid  to  own  up." 

"Afraid,"  she  stood  looking  at  him,  with  such 
a  peculiar  expression  that  he  feared  another 
delay. 

"Never  mind  now;  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
when  we  get  out.  I  want  to  walk  up  to  the 
blackberry  patch  where  I  saw  you  the  first  day." 

She  went  without  a  word  for  her  things,  still 
with  that  odd,  sober  expression;  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  walking  up  the  path  toward 
the  lower  slopes  of  the  mountain. 

"You — you  said  you  had  been  to  Wauchung?" 
she  remarked  by  way  of  breaking  the  silence. 

"Yes.  I  stayed  there  about  twenty  minutes. 
You  see — I  can  laugh  at  it  now,  but  I  couldn't 
then — I've  been  sort  of  a  fool.  When  I  wrote 
those  letters  and  you  didn't  answer,  and  then 
when  I  went  to  your  house  and  found  that  you'd 
come  down  here  without  a  word  to  me,  I  was  all 
broken  up,  and  my  nerve  just  left  me.  And  then 
finally  I  did  manage  to  get  down  here,  and  you 
didn't  seem  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  I  don't  doubt 


WEST  AND   EAST  279 

I  was  jealous  of  the  Green  fellow.  I  had  forgotten 
then  that  after  that  night  in  Evanston — that  when 
you  had  once  let  me  know  what  you  let  me 
know  then — you  never  would  change.  You  see, 
I  know  you  better  than  you  think,  Margaret. 
I've  seen  since  that  it  was  my  fault — that  I've 
been  expecting  you  to  say  things  it  was  my 
business  to  say  for  myself — and  that  there  couldn't 
anything  but  little  misunderstandings  come  be- 
tween us  after — after  that.  And — and 

He  paused  to  look  at  her.  She  would  have 
liked  a  broad  hat,  a  sunbonnet,  anything  that 
would  have  shielded  her  face  from  him,  but  her 
little  tarn  was  merciless,  and  she  could  only 
study  the  path.  Another  moment  and  he  had 
to  fall  behind  her. 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  all  there  is  about  it, 
Margaret.  I  was  a  fool,  but  I'm  not  a  fool  any 
longer.  Here  we  are,  where  I  saw  you.  Let's 
sit  down  on  this  log."  She  slipped  to  the  ground 
and  deliberately  faced  away  from  him,  looking 
off  at  the  tumbling  slopes  of  Cross  Mountain. 
But  he  came  around  to  the  other  side.  "Now, 
Margaret,  I've  told  you  once,  and  you  know  all  I 
could  say  without  my  telling  you  again.  I  love 
you :  that's  all.  I  can't  go  on  any  longer  this  way. 
I  can't  live  without  you — I've  tried  it — it's  no  use 
—so  why  can't  we  understand  each  other  right 
now,  and  stop  this  playing  at  cross-purposes,  and 


28o  THE  WHIP  HAND 

just  be  happy !  You — you're  all  that  I  want  in 
this  world,  Margaret — everything — everything." 
He  was  leaning  forward,  playing  nervously  with 
a  thorny  twig  and  eagerly  searching  her  face. 
"Tell  me,  Margaret — tell  me  if  you  will  come 
right  now  into  my  life  and  make  it  worth  some- 
thing. I've  been  working  day  and  night  for 
other  people — now  I  want  to  work  for  you.  I 
want  to  see  if  I  can't  make  a  home  for  you — if 
I  can't  make  you  happy.  When  I've  been  work- 
ing the  hardest  I've  wondered,  a  good  many  times, 
what  was  the  use  of  it  all — what  good  it  would 
do  me  if  I  should  succeed,  and  make  a  lot  of 
money  and  direct  a  lot  of  men.  There's  a  passion 
for  money,  and  there's  a  passion  for  power — I 
know  a  good  many  men  that  have  one  or  the  other 
or  both  of  them — but  one  thing  I've  learned  this 
year,  Margaret,  is  that  neither  could  ever  fill  my 
life  and  make  it  what  I  want  to  make  it.  Nothing, 
nobody  but  you  can  do  that.  Money  and  power 
mean  worse  than  nothing  to  me  unless  they  are 
means  toward  making  you  happy.  That's  what 
I  want  to  do,  Margaret,  if  you'll  only  give  me 
the  chance.  Will  you?" 

There  was  a  long,  long  time  before  she  could 
do  more  than  look  off  at  the  cloud-shadows 
floating  up  the  opposite  mountainside.  They 
sat  motionless;  Halloran's  hand  had  dropped 
from  the  twig;  and  the  wonderful  silence  of  the 


WEST  AND   EAST  281 

mountains  wrapped  them  about.  She  wondered 
why  he  did  not  go  on;  he  waited,  breathless. 
She  half  turned ;  he  caught  her  hand  and  gripped 
it  with  a  nervous  grasp.  Her  eyes  sought  the 
shadows  again,  wavered,  were  drawn,  slowly, 
in  spite  of  herself,  to  his  face.  And  then  he  had 
her  in  his  arms. 

Oh,  the  glory  of  the  painted  mountains,  the 
joy  of  the  world  about  them !  A  hawk  circled 
overhead,  flew  whistling  off  and  lost  himself  in 
the  forest.  The  squirrels  and  chipmunks,  peering 
out  from  tree  and  rock,  recalled  their  own  young 
days  and  whisked  away.  The  bees  alone  kept 
them  company,  but  bee-workers  have  no  time  for 
love-making.  And  all  those  two  knew  was  that 
the  world  was  young  and  the  world  was  many- 
tinted;  that  the  sky  was  blue-and-white  above; 
that  all,  everything,  was  theirs  forever,  in  this 
world  and  in  the  world  to  come. 

"Dear  girl,"  he  murmured,  with  his  lips  at  her 
ear,  " there  is  no  mistake  this  time?  This  is  for 
always?" 

Before  the  words  were  spoken  her  arms  were 
around  his  neck,  her  lips  were  close  to  his,  her 
heart  was  beating  against  his  own.  "Always," 
she  was  repeating  with  him — "  always — always  !" 


CHAPTER  VII 
THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS 

WHEN  they  reached  the  house,  a  little  late  for 
dinner,  they  found  a  telegram  for  Halloran  on 
the  mail-rack.  Margaret  started  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"What  is  it,  John  ?     What  does  it  mean  ?" 

He  read  it,  then  looked  at  it  gloomily.  "I 
suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad,"  he  said. 

"Is  it  good  news?  I  never  can  wait  to  see 
what's  in  a  telegram." 

He  handed  it  to  her.  "I  don't  know  whether 
you  can  make  anything  out  of  it.  It  is  good  news 
— it's  what  I've  been  hoping  for  for  months. 
And  now  I'm  sorry." 

"Price  has  risen,"  she  read.  "Understand 
that  combine  is  broken.  Crosman.  What  does 
that  mean  ?  What  price  ?  And  who  is  Crosman  ?' ' 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  after  dinner.  I'm 
going  to  run  up  now  and  throw  my  things  together. 
I  shall  have  to  take  the  evening  train." 

"Oh— John!" 

He  could  not  reply;  but  with  a  quick  look 
around  the  halls  he  took  both  her  hands. 

"Don't  go,  John.     Why,  it's " 

282 


THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS          283 

"I  know,  dear.  It  hurts — but  I  must."  And 
then,  afraid  of  that  unmanageable  little  imp 
within  him  that  had  a  way  of  taking  the  reins 
now  and  then,  he  only  managed  to  add,  "I'll  pack 
now  so  we  can  talk  after  dinner,"  and  bolted 
upstairs. 

After  a  hasty  dinner  he  found  her  waiting 
with  her  coat  and  hat  on.  "I'm  going  to  the 
station  with  you,"  she  said.  "Mother  thinks  it 
will  be  all  right,  with  Baker  to  drive.  Now 
come  out  and  tell  me  about  it."  After  saying 
which,  she  herself  began,  as  soon  as  they  were 
pacing  the  veranda  arm  in  arm,  on  an  entirely 
different  subject.  "I've  talked  with  mother, 
John.  I — I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  waited — it 
was  really  your  place,  wasn't  it?  But  I'm  so 
happy  I  couldn't  wait.  And  dear  old  mother 
was  so  surprised — I  was  excited,  I  guess,  and  I 
laughed  a  little,  and— 

"I  wanted  to  see  her  anyway,  before  I  go." 
"You   can't   now,    John.     She's   so   tired   and 
stirred  up  she  has  gone  right  to  bed.     But — I 
don't  think  you'll  find  her  very  hard  to  talk  with 
when  you  do  see  her." 

"Does  she  think  she  can  give  you  up  ?" 

They  were  standing  at  the  end  of  the  veranda, 

and  Margaret  was  leaning  back  with  both  hands 

on  the  railing.     She  shook  her  head  and  looked 

mischievously   at   him,      "I   don't   know   but    I 


284  THE  WHIP  HAND 

shall  have  to  be  a  little  jealous  of  mother.  I 
couldn't  let  many  people  talk  about  you  like  she 
does. " 

Halloran  had  never  seen  her  in  such  spirits.  It 
was  slowly  coming  to  him  that  this  was  neither 
of  the  Margarets  he  had  known  in  the  past.  He 
had  never  seen  her  so  well,  for  one  thing;  and 
now,  besides,  she  was  happy.  And  all  the  playful 
tenderness,  the  mischief,  the  devotion  of  her 
honest  heart  were  his.  Was  it  a  wonder,  then, 
that  she  captivated  him  as  never  before?  That 
her  fancy  played  about  him,  and  led  his  wits  such 
a  mad,  happy  chase  that  it  was  she,  at  the  last, 
who  had  to  tell  him  that  the  carriage  was  waiting 
for  them  and  that  they  really  must  go !  And  as 
they  rolled  along  toward  the  village — as  the  first 
mile-post  gleamed  in  the  moonlight  and  slipped 
away  behind  them;  as  the  rushing  Panther  Kill 
roared  a  moment  in  their  ears  and  then,  too, 
slipped  behind;  as  they  passed  the  quarry  and 
came  slowly  in  sight  of  the  red  and  green  lights 
of  the  railroad,  Halloran's  heart  failed  him. 
They  were  on  the  back  seat  of  the  mountain 
wagon,  deep  in  the  shadow;  she  was  in  his  arms 
for  the  last  time  until — when  ?  They  were  drop- 
ping into  silence  as  the  parting  drew  near. 

" Margaret,"  he  whispered,  "I've  been  think- 
ing— I  can't  go  to-night — it's  no  use." 

"No,  John,  don't  go." 


THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS  285 

"  We'll  turn  around — we'll  go  to-morrow  night — 
you  and  your  mother  can  start  then,  too — we'll 
all  go  West  together.  I'll  wire  Crosman  to  begin 
selling.  Yes,  we'll  drive  on  to  the  station,  and 
I'll  send  the  message." 

"I'm  afraid,  John,  I  couldn't  get  mother  ready 
to  go  to-morrow.  You  don't  quite  understand — 
it  would  unsettle  her  dreadfully  to  get  ready 
arid  go  all  in  a  rush  like  that.  She  has  her  mind 
made  up  for  two  weeks  more — and  I'm  afraid 
I  couldn't  shorten  it  to  less  than  one.  Stay  a 
week;  it  isn't  much.  You  deserve  a  vacation. 
Mr.  Crosman  won't  mind. " 

The  little  imp  already  had  his  hands  on  the 
reins ;  but  at  the  sound  of  the  whistle,  far  up  the 
Shandaken  Valley,  Halloran  roused.  "I  don't 
know  what  I'm  thinking  of,  Margaret.  They 
need  me  there.  Good-by;  don't  say  anything — 
I'm  afraid  I'll  stay.  Good-by." 

"Good — good-by,  John.  Write  to  me."  She 
saw  him  on  the  train ;  she  walked  to  the  end  of  the 
platform  to  wave  when  his  car  passed ;  and  then, 
deep  in  the  gloom  of  the  night,  she  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  carriage. 

Halloran  sent  a  message  on  ahead,  and 
Crosman,  all  excitement,  met  him  at  the  station. 

"It's  all  over,  Mr.  Halloran,"  he  burst  out,  as 
they  shook  hands.  ' '  Mr.  Corrigan's  been  down  here 
to  see  you  about  advancing  prices  to  cover  losses." 


286  THE   WHIP   HAND 

"  We  don't  need  to  advance  prices.  We  haven't 
lost  anything. " 

"Well — he  only  went  back  last  night.  He 
says  he  hopes  you'll  write  him. " 

"I'll  see  to  it.     Does  Mr.  Higginson  know?" 

"Only  what  Mamie  could  tell  him.  He  wants 
to  see  you.  I  asked  the  doctor  about  it,  and  he 
says  you  can  go  in  if  you  have  some  good  news  for 
him ;  if  you  haven't,  you'd  better  stay  away.  I 
told  him  I  guessed  there  wasn't  much  doubt  about 
that." 

"  I'll  go  over  after  supper. " 

"All  right;  I'll  leave  word  so's  they'll  be  ready. 
And  say,  Mr.  Halloran,  there's  another  thing. 
I  was  going  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Higginson  to-day 
about — about  Mamie  and  me,  but  Mamie  doesn't 
want  me  to.  She  says  her  mother  wouldn't 
listen  to  a  word  from  me.  And  we've  been 
talking  it  over,  and  we  wondered  if  you'd  be  will- 
ing to  say  a  word  for  us."  He  hurried  to  add: 
"  I  know  it's  sort  of  a  funny  thing  to  ask,  but  we're 
just  up  a  tree.  If  I  could  see  her  father  I  could 
manage  it,  but  it's  pretty  tough  to  go  on  like 
this  and  feel  all  the  while  that  she's  down  on  me. " 

Halloran  pursed  his  lips.  "  It's  Mrs.  Higginson 
that  you  want  me  to  talk  to  ? " 

"Well,  no — not  since  they're  going  to  let  you 
see  him.  Now  don't  you  do  it,  Mr.  Halloran,  if 
you'd  rather  not.  I  know  how— 


THREE   ANNOUNCEMENTS          287 

"If  I  see  a  good  chance  I'll  try  to  put  in  a  word. 
You  won't  mind  if  I  go  in  now  and  wash  up  ?" 

"No.     Say,  it's  mighty  square  of  you " 

"Never  mind  that.  I  suppose  I'll  see  you  this 
evening?" 

After  supper  Halloran  walked  around  to  the 
Higginson  home  and  was  met  at  the  door  by 
Mamie,  blushing  and  smiling. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Halloran,"  she  said.  "Papa's 
been  impatient  to  see  you.  You  can  go  right  up. 
Mamma  asked  me  to  excuse  her  to  you.  She 
isn't  feeling  well." 

Mr.  Higginson,  looking  ten  years  older  for  his 
long  sickness,  was  propped  up  in  an  arm  chair. 
He  smiled  eagerly  at  the  sight  of  his  manager  in  the 
doorway,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "Come  in, 
John,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down. 
You've  been  having  a  little  vacation,  haven't 
you?" 

-Yes— I've  been  East." 

"I'm  glad  of  it.  You  deserve  it.  Now  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  all  about  things." 

Halloran  hesitated,  looking  at  the  white, 
wrinkled  face  and  wondering  if  there  was  yet 
strength  behind  it  to  go  into  the  details  of  the 
business.  "It's  a  good  deal  of  a  story." 

"But  it's  ended,  isn't  it?  Mamie's  right  in 
what  she  tells  me?" 

"Yes,  it's  about  over." 


288  THE   WHIP   HAND 

"And  we've  won?" 

"I  guess  we  have.     There  isn't  any  combine 
now." 

"And  Bigelow ?" 


"Bigelow's  broken.  It  was  in  the  paper  this 
morning." 

"Broken,"  Mr.  Higginson  repeated,  half  dazed. 
"I  didn't  think  our  fight  could  break  him." 

"We  didn't  do  it  all.  He's  been  punctured  all 
around.  I  guess  his  Board  of  Trade  deal  hit  him 
the  hardest." 

"What's  this  I've  been  hearing  about  this  great 
lot  of  lumber  in  the  yards — whose  is  it?  I  feel 
like  Rip  Van  Winkle." 

"It's  ours.  When  the  trust  cut  prices  we  bought 
in  all  we  could  get." 

"But — but  where  did  you  get  the  money?" 

"From  the  National  City." 

"And  you're  going  to  sell  now?" 

"We've  begun  already.  It  will  just  about 
cover  our  losses.  I  understand  Corrigan  wants 
to  raise  prices  a  peg  or  so,  but  I've  been 
thinking  we'll  hold  the  advantage  better  if 
we  refuse." 

"You've  had  a  fire,  I  understand?" 

"Yes — didn't  amount  to  much — less  than  the 
insurance  premium  would  have  cost  us." 

"Did  you  ever  find  out  how  it  started?" 

"Yes — and  no.     It  was  done  by  a  tramp.     He 


THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS  289 

claims  he  was  smoking  and  fell  asleep.  We 
put  the  screws  on  him,  but  couldn't  get  a  word 
more  than  that.  They're  still  holding  him,  but 
I've  about  decided  to  let  him  go.  There  may 
be  something  behind  it,  of  course,  but  if  he  won't 
tell  I  don't  know  who  will.  I  hardly  think  it 
would  pay  us  to  push  it  any  further." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,  so  long  as  we're  well  out 
of  it.  Are  you  keeping  a  close  watch  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  put  on  an  extra  man  since  the  fire." 
While  he  was  answering  these  eager  questions, 
Halloran  had  been  looking  for  an  opportunity 
to  open  the  subject  that  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind.  Now,  dropping  his  voice,  he  began: 
"There's  one  thing,  Mr.  Higginson — 

But  his  employer  did  not  hear.  "Who  was 
this  Le  Due  I've  been  hearing  about?" 

"He's  Captain  Craig's  son-in-law.  Bigelow  put 
him  up  as  his  operator  in  corn."  Again  his  voice 
lost  its  assurance.  "I  have  something  to  tell 
you " 

"Craig's  son-in-law.  Strange  I  never  heard  of 
him." 

"I  didn't  put  it  quite  right — Le  Due  married  his 
granddaughter.  Bigelow  was  Craig' s  son-in-law. ' ' 

"Bigelow!" 

"Yes — that  makes  Le  Due  Bigelow' s  son-in-law. 
You  see,  the  Captain's  daughter  has  been 
found  in  Chicago,  and  he's  brought  her  back 


29o  THE   WHIP   HAND 

home.     She  was  divorced  from  Bigelow  a  good 
while  back." 

4 'Divorced  from  Bigelow  !" 

It  dawned  on  Halloran  that  he  was  stirring 
the  old  gentleman's  brain  into  a  muddle,  and  he 
stopped. 

"I  guess  we  won't  go  into  it  now,  John — I 
seem  to  be  a  little  tired.  It's  strange — strange. 
More  seems  to  have  happened  in  these  months 
than  in  all  the  rest  of  my  life  put  together.  But 
didn't  I  interrupt  you  a  moment  ago?  What 
were  you  going  to  say?" 

Halloran  had  no  more  tnan  started,  in  that 
same  altered  voice,  than  a  dress  rustled  behind  him 
and  Mr.  Higginson  broke  in  with:  "Come  in,  my 
dear.  Here  is  John  Halloran." 

Mrs.  Higginson,  becomingly  pale,  a  pink-and- 
white  shawl  drawn  about  her  shoulders,  came 
languidly  in  and  took  Halloran's  hand.  " Don't 
stand,"  she  said ;  "I  heard  your  voice  and  thought 
I  would  come  in  for  a  moment.  I  am  hardly 
able  to  get  downstairs  yet,  but  I  try  to  walk  about 
a  little  on  this  floor.  Doctor  Brown  fairly  orders 
me  to  keep  very  quiet,  but  I  feel  sure  that  a  little 
exercise  is  the  best  thing.  How  are  we  ever  to 
get  about  if  we  take  no  exercise  ?  Don't  you  feel 
that  draught,  dear?  John,  would  you  mind 
shutting  the  door?  I  have  to  be  a  little  careful 
about  such  things.  I'm  glad  you've  brought 


THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS          291 

Mr.  H.  some  good  news.  Doctor  Brown  said  it 
was  the  one  thing  that  might  help  him.  'Tell 
Mr.  Halloran  to  come  if  he  brings  good  news,' 
he  said.  'If  he  doesn't,  he'd  better  stay  away/ 
Well,  we've  had  a  pretty  serious  time  of  it  here, 
haven't  we?  I  told  Mr.  H.  he  simply  must  get 
well — for  what  was  to  become  of  Mamie  and  me  if 
he  didn't.  We  haven't  seen  much  of  you  lately, 
John.  Of  course,  things  have  been  rather  broken 
up  with  my  sickness,  and  Mr.  H.'s.,  but  I  am  sure 
Mamie  would  have  been  glad  to  see  you  any 
time." 

"John  has  been  away,"  said  Mr.  Higginson. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Halloran,  seeing  his 
opportunity,  girded  up  his  courage  and  plunged 
forward.  "It's  been  a  pretty  important  trip  to 
me,"  he  began.  This  was  clumsy,  but  it  was  go 
ahead  or  nothing  with  him  now,  and  he  went  ahead. 
"Since  I  went  away — I  went  down  to  see  Margaret 
Davies,  of  Evanston;  she  has  been  staying  down 
there,  in  the  mountains — and  she  has  promised 
to  be  my  wife." 

The  words  were  out.  Mr.  Higginson  sat  up 
straight  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  him.  Mrs. 
Higginson  leaned  back  and  stared.  Halloran 
could  only  turn  red.  Finally,  Mrs.  Higginson, 
the  first  to  recover,  repeated  the  name,  "Margaret 
Davies  !  I've  never  heard  any  Evanston  people 
speak  of  her.  Has  her  family  lived  there  long?" 


2 92  THE   WHIP   HAND 

"Yes,  all  her  life." 

"Um — it's  not  a  wealthy  family,  I  suppose?" 

"I  guess  so.  They  have  a  fine  old  place  on  the 
Ridge." 

Again  Mrs.  Higginson's  tongue  failed  her,  and 
she  rose  to  go.  "I  hope  you  won't  mind  if  I  tell 
Mamie,  Mr.  Halloran.  She  will  be  interested." 

"Oh,  no;  not  at  all.     It's  not  a  secret." 

"We  are  all  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It's  rather  a 
sudden  affair,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no.     It's  years  old." 

"Years — indeed?  I  hope  you'll  do  some  very 
careful  thinking.  It  is  asking  a  good  deal  of  a 
woman  to  bring  her  here  to  Wauchung — a  city 
woman  especially,  with  culture  and  refined  tastes. 
I  hope  you  aren't  making  a  mistake.  It  would  be 
such  a  pity  for  her  life  to  turn  out  unhappily." 

She  went  out;  and  Halloran,  after  fidgeting  a 
moment,  began  to  think  that  the  best  thing  he 
could  do  would  be  to  go,  too.  But  Mr.  Higginson 
checked  him.  "Sit  down,  John;  sit  down.  So 
you're  going  to  be  married?  Well,  I'm  glad 
to  hear  it.  Let  me  shake  hands  with  you." 

Halloran  was  nervous  and  he  rose  again. 

"Wait  a  minute;  I  haven't  said  what  I  wanted 
to  see  you  about  yet.  There's  a  matter  that's 
been  in  my  mind  a  good  deal  while  I've  been 
lying  here,  and  I  guess  this  is  a  good  time  to 
bring  it  up.  I  jotted  down  some  memoranda 


THREE  ANNOUNCEMENTS          293 

this  morning — there  on  the  table,  those  folded 
papers.  I  wish  you'd  take  them  with  you  and 
look  them  over.  I  want  your  opinion  on  them 
before  we  do  anything  about  it." 

Halloran  took  the  papers,  opened  the  first  one, 
and  ran  his  eye  over  it.  At  the  first  words  he 
started,  flushed,  muttered  something,  and  looked 
up,  speechless  with  gratitude.  "Why — why— 

"That's  all  right,"  Mr.  Higginson  interrupted. 
"Never  mind  giving  your  decision  now.  Go 
home  and  think  it  over.  If  you  see  anything 
about  it  that  you  think  could  be  improved,  talk 
it  over  with  me  the  next  time  you  come  around 
and  I  guess  we  won't  make  much  difficulty  over  it. 
Higginson  &  Halloran  doesn't  look  quite  so  well 
as  Higginson  &  Co.  A  shorter  name  would  look 
better.  But  we  never  did  go  in  much  for  looks." 

"I  don't  need  to  think  over  this,  Mr.  Higginson." 

"Take  it  along;  take  it  along.  I  guess  I've 
talked  enough  for  this  afternoon.  I'm  a  little 
tired." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  now  but  to  go.  As 
he  passed  down  the  stairs  he  saw  Crosman  and 
Mamie  standing  anxiously  in  the  parlour 
doorway. 

"Did  they  say  anything  about  our  coming  up?" 
said  Crosman. 

Halloran  stopped  short.  "By  Jove!"  he  said; 
and  then:  "Say,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  clean  forgot  you. 


294  THE  WHIP   HAND 

It  comes  to  the  same  thing,  anyhow;  I  never 
could  have  said  a  word.  I  guess  it's  up  to  you." 

He  stood  aside.     Mamie  looked  at  Crosman. 

"Well,  say,  Mamie,  where  is  she?" 

"In  her  room,  I  guess." 

"You  go  up  ahead,  Mamie,  and  find  out  if  I 
can  see  her." 

So  with  a  dejected  expression,  Mamie  piloting 
him,  Crosman  started  up  the  stairs  just  as 
Halloran  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
LEVELING    DOWN 

MARGARET  and  Halloran  were  married  in  the 
late  spring.  For  their  honeymoon  they  went 
back  to  the  mountains  at  the  time  when  the 
apple  buds  were  bursting  into  billows  of  pink 
and  white  in  hillside  orchards.  The  song-sparrows 
and  robins  sang  for  them  as  they  drove  up  from 
the  village;  the  brook,  boisterous  with  a  burden 
drained  from  higher  slopes  where  the  snow  still 
lingered  under  northern  ledges,  brawled  almost 
at  the  carriage  wheels;  millions  of  violets  dotted 
the  roadside,  and  white  strawberry  blossoms  and 
the  first  daisies,  and  forget-me-nots  that  had 
escaped  from  some  old-time  garden.  The  smell 
of  spring  was  in  the  air,  the  intoxicating  sense 
of  youth  and  health  and  happiness.  And  as  they 
rolled  comfortably  along  behind  the  jogging 
white  horses  they  could  only  look  at  each  other 
and  draw  in  deep  breaths  of  the  fragrant,  buoyant 
air,  and  be  glad. 

Their  first  climb  was  up  to  the  blackberry 
patch,  under  the  maples.  As  they  sat  there 
on  a  well-remembered  log,  and  looked  out  on 

295 


296  THE   WHIP   HAND 

the  green  wonder  of  the  opposite  slope,  where 
the  cloud-shadows  were  mounting  as  on  that  day 
of  the  autumn  before,  Margaret  slipped  her  hand 
into  Halloran's.  "Listen,"  she  said. 

Far  back  in  the  hollow  of  the  mountain  a  winter 
wren  was  caroling,  welcoming  them  back  to  the 
highlands  with  all  the  melody  in  his  little  throat. 
His  neighbours  took  it  up,  and  piped  their 
shrillest;  and  all  along  the  slope  chirped  the 
dainty  babel  of  welcome. 

"John,"   she  murmured. 

"Yes,  Margaret." 

"They  can't  send  you  any  telegrams  now?" 

"It  wouldn't  do  them  any  good  if  they  did. 
I've  ordered  the  station  agent  to  hold  all  messages 
until  I  call  for  them,  and  I'm  not  going  to  call." 

She  smiled;  and  again  they  were  silent,  listen- 
ing to  the  merry  strains  behind  them  and  to  the 
far-off  sounds  from  the  valley,  and  watching  the 
men  at  work  in  the  fields  below. 

We  have  followed  them  thus  far,  but  now,  in 
telling  an  odd  incident  of  this  little  journey,  we 
take  leave.  One  evening,  at  supper,  some  active 
bodies  at  the  house  busied  themselves  in  getting 
up  an  expedition  to  the  village.  There  was  to 
be  a  "  show  "  in  the  village  hall.  These  things  were 
said  to  be  great  fun,  and  Margaret  and  Halloran 
were  in  the  first  wagon  that  went  down.  A  band 
of  broken-down  actors,  the  latest  coon  songs,  an 


LEVELING  DOWN  297 

elaborate  silver  table  set  to  be  raffled  off — a 
number  being  given  with  each  and  every  ticket 
sold  to  the  performance — these  were  the  attrac- 
tions. It  was  hinted  that  the  same  silver  set 
would  probably  figure  again  in  other  years ;  for  the 
raffle  included  all  the  towns  along  the  railroad, 
and  the  winning  ticket  seemed  always  to  be  held 
in  some  other  town.  But  the  natives  of  the 
mountains  were  always  glad  to  be  swindled,  and 
silverware  was  not  to  be  resisted.  Small  farmers, 
who  build  shingled  bay  windows  and  buy  cabinet 
organs  before  the  rear  of  the  house  is  boarded  up, 
fall  an  easy  prey  to  these  allurements.  So  the 
hall  was  crowded,  and  the  party  found  some 
difficulty  in  getting  seats. 

At  length  the  cracked  piano  began  to  jingle. 
The  janitor  lighted  the  lamps  that  served  for  foot- 
lights, and  a  voice,  somewhere  behind  the  curtain, 
was  heard  singing. 

The  giggling,  chatting  audience  was  hushed. 
The  kerosene  lamps  smoked  and  flickered  un- 
heeded. A  village  aristocrat,  daughter  of  the 
general  storekeeper,  with  her  gum-chewing  escort, 
sat  next  to  Halloran,  rapt  with  expectancy. 
The  voice  swelled  out  louder  and  louder,  as  it 
approached  the  refrain.  Margaret,  finding  the 
audience  more  odorous  and  less  picturesque  than 
she  had  looked  for,  turned  to  suggest  an  early 
departure,  and  was  surprised  to  see  her  husband 


298  THE  WHIP  HAND 

leaning  forward,  his  hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
in  front,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  stage.  There  were 
signs  that  the  curtain  was  to  be  drawn;  and  as 
the  voice  swung  into  the  refrain,  "For  Golden- 
haired  Mary,  dee-doodle-dee-fairy,  dee-iddle-dee 
airy,  ta-raddle-my-own,"  the  singer  was  disclosed, 
a  long-legged  black-face  comedian,  in  a  gorgeous, 
if  shabby,  cake-walk  costume.  Halloran  mut- 
tered, "Well,  I'm  blest!" 

"What  is  it,  John?"  she  whispered. 

"Don't  you  know  him?     It's  Apples  !" 

Sure  enough,  Le  Due,  after  a  vain  chase  for  the 
gold  that  glitters  above  the  corn-pit  on  the  Board 
of  Trade,  had  returned  to  the  path  that  leads 
to  Shakespeare.  The  Bard  was  not  quite  within 
hail,  to  be  sure,  for  Apples  had  lost  his  place  in 
the  line  and  must  begin  farther  back  than  ever, 
but  the  road  was  still  there.  As  they  watched 
and  listened,  a  woman,  also  in  black-face,  joined 
the  comedian ;  and  they  recognized  his  wife. 

The  next  morning  Halloran  walked  to  the 
village  after  breakfast  for  a  talk  with  Le  Due, 
but  the  "company"  had  left  by  an  early  train. 
"I  don't  know,"  he  said  to  Margaret  when  they 
talked  it  over  later  in  the  day;  "there's  not  much 
tise  being  sorry  for  them.  They'd  have  landed 
on  this  level  sooner  or  later  anyhow — nothing 
could  stop  them.  And  he  can't  do  anything 
like  the  harm  with  his  silver-set  swindle  that  he 


LEVELING  DOWN  299 

could  have  if  Bigelow  had  succeeded  in  putting 
his  deal  through." 

"I'm  a  little  sorry  for  Lizzie,  though.  I  used 
to  think  she  might  amount  to  something.  You 
see,  John,  I  can't  quite  forget  that  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  her  and  George  we  might  not — maybe  we 
wouldn't  have  come  to  know  each  other  so  well." 

They  were  walking  in  the  orchard.  As  she 
spoke  she  picked  a  cluster  of  apple  blossoms  and 
turned  to  pin  them  on  his  coat. 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her 
and  smiling,  "but  I  don't  know.  Maybe  we'd 
have  landed  on  this  level,  too,  no  matter  how  we 
started.  I  like  to  think  so." 

She  looked  up  with  one  of  the  quick,  shy  glances 
he  was  learning  to  expect ;  and  as  quickly  looking 
down  again,  and  lowering  her  head  over  the 
blossoms,  she  murmured,  "So  do  I." 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
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DEC  3  -1955  8.  m 


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